


Chasing Victory

by BoxFullofCats



Series: The Nikai [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice RPF, British Actor RPF, DC Cinematic Universe RPF, Henry Cavill - Fandom, Man of Steel RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Chapter 17 has smut, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Friendship, Friendship to Love, Friendship/Love, Latino Character, Love Triangles, Male-Female Friendship, Mexican Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romantic Friendship, Semi-beta read, Yes its cliche I know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxFullofCats/pseuds/BoxFullofCats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things have changed between Tom and Vicky. Whether for the better or worse is yet to be seen. As Tom tries to earn a place in her heart again, someone else enters the scene who very well may jeopardize that.</p><p>Story takes place from the summer of 2012 onward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

**_July, Paris, France_ **

The sun had set long ago and the stars were out. Well the ones that broke through the light pollution anyway.

Vicky and Heather were settling in for the night. The younger girl was in the bathroom going through her nightly routine, while Vicky reviewed the pictures on her camera. She just jumped off the bed when her cell phone started to ring.

She wasn’t expecting anyone to be calling as she had already spoken to her parents and grandfather back in the states. Heck, she had even chatted to Aunt Millie for a bit.

Who was calling her this late? She was hoping to watch at least an episode or two of The Tudors or Game of Thrones that she had downloaded onto her laptop. She picked up the phone, the calling code letting her know it was from England. She didn’t recognize the number, but maybe it was Emma or Amy calling her with a new number?

Hesitantly she answered, “Hello?"

As it would turn out her trip to Paris would be cut short and she’d definitely never make it over to Berlin, their next stop. Caerus was calling her name and she was going to answer.

For a bit of time Tom was the farthest thing from her mind.

 

**_August, Chelsea, London, England_ **

She looked engrossed in whatever was on her laptop screen, alternating between furiously typing and clicking her mouse. Glasses were perched on her nose, and her teeth kept worrying her bottom lip. He wanted to know what held her interest so much that she didn’t seem to be bothered by the gaggle of young girls who sat down next to her tittering about nonsensical subject matter.

When he first walked into the café with his friend he noticed her. Not because her laughter drew him in, she hadn’t made a sound since he’d arrived; nor because she was wearing something ridiculously sexy, she was dressed casually. No, what drew his attention to her was that she seemed to be the only one not complaining about the heat, or looking as if she was going to perish from it.

It seemed, far too quickly, though, that he and his friend were leaving. The dark-haired beauty was just closing her computer, gathering up the wayward papers that she had spread out on her small table.

Reluctantly he left. He made it a point to remember the time and the café. Hopefully he’d be able to spot her again if he came back at a similar time. Never mind that he did not normally frequent this area.

He was sure it would be worth it to go out of his way to come back.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Late August, Chelsea Park Gardens, London, England_ **

Vicky practically collapsed into the back of the car that came to pick her up. It had been another long day at work.

The previous VFX company she had been working for, that had let her go, had gone belly up after she left and had apparently left one project, _Man of Steel_ , half finished. Double Negative had thankfully been working on it as well and rescued most of it. Except for the portion Vicky had worked on with her team. Through no fault of her own, data had been corrupted. Normally it could have been redone by someone else, but things she had worked on had been shown to the bigwigs at Warner Brothers and DC. Her work could not be duplicated as she hadn’t gone about things the normal way, and even had a friend create a new little bit of software so she could accomplish what she wanted to do.

DNeg had called her up while she had been in Paris and offered her a job with them just beyond redoing her work. Knowing the reputation of the company (beyond stellar) she had jumped at the opportunity. With a quick pop back to the States to get the essentials, explain things properly to her family, and to get Ramses she was back in England.

When Aunt Mildred heard, or Millie, as she liked Vicky to call her, she insisted that she stay with her at her place in Chelsea. Vicky gratefully accepted. However, when it became clear that most work days were going to end in a late night, Mildred insisted that a car service pick her up, as she didn’t trust the tube or a taxi to bring her home. Vicky protested at first but it turned out to be really nice to catch a quick catnap from Fitzrovia, on the border of Camden and Westminster, to Aunt Millie’s home in Chelsea near the Thames.

"Miss Diaz, if you would wake," her driver Oscar called to her.

The first few times when she had fallen asleep and he had awoken her; she had sat up quick as a whip and tried to look like she had not been sleeping. Now she just stretched her arms out and then gathered her things with a thank you and goodnight.

It was Friday night, and perhaps any other single woman in her late twenties would be getting ready to go to a pub or something. However, Vicky walked inside her temporary home, unceremoniously kicked her shoes off, and walked past the reception room and study, past the staircase that led upstairs and straight into the kitchen. There she deposited her bag on the kitchen island and flopped onto one of its barstools.

“Long day?” Aunt Mildred greeted her from the other side of the kitchen where she was making tea.

Vicky laughed, “Yes, but when isn’t it?”

Her aunt, though their link was tenuous, tsked as she retrieved two tea cups. She always stayed up to make sure her “niece" arrived home safely, and to share a cup of tea. “They really shouldn’t be working you so hard.”

A smirk appeared on Vicky’s face. “It’s not them, really. Just me trying to get things working right. Besides, I’m almost done with my bit.”

Mildred handed her a cup of tea and climbed up onto a barstool next to her. For an elderly woman of indeterminate age she was pretty spry. “I may be able to see you when the sun is still up then.”

Vicky took a sip of the tea. Still not her favorite drink in the world, but she drank it for Millie’s sake. “Maybe,” she said as she sat her cup back down.

“Maybe?” Millie inquired.

“They want me to be lead on an upcoming project,” she admitted. “This would keep me here for at least another year.”

Her aunt could not be happier. “Oh! That’s wonderful, perfect, actually. I do hope you’re going to take the job!"

With a sigh she replied, “I am, I just feel that I might be stepping on people’s toes that have been there way longer than I have. There also may be a slight conflict of interest."

Millie raised a weathered eyebrow and studied Vicky for a moment. “This position they offered you, did you apply for it?"

"Yes, but I never thought I’d get it -"

A raised hand stopped her. “So others were allowed to apply for it as well?" Vicky nodded in reply. “Obviously you were thought the best candidate or they wouldn’t have chosen you." She gave a definitive head nod as if that settled the matter. “How will working on this new movie, or project, rather, be a conflict of interest?"

She took a deep breath before answering. “It’s a movie that Tom is filming."

The elderly woman’s face lit up at the mention of her actual relation. “That’s wonderful! Why do you look so morose about this?"

Vicky hadn’t told her what had transpired earlier that spring, and by Millie’s reaction no one else had, either. So she proceeded to tell her how Tom had hurt her, how he had apologized months later and how she had wanted space from him. She even confessed to not speaking to him since she got the job with DNeg. Her aunt sat there, a frown forming on her face when she heard what Tom had done.

When she was done telling her tale, Vicky took a large gulp of her tea before remembering what it was she was drinking, and nearly choked on it. Oh god, how did they not add sugar to the stuff over here? She forced down the semi-bitter drink as Millie processed what she had been told.

“Does Thomas know that you are even here?” she asked.

“No,” Vicky replied sheepishly. She had thought of telling him when she got the job, but in all the excitement she forgot to call him. Then she just kept putting it off and putting it off until she more or less forgot about it. Avoidance in its finest form.

“Are you planning to tell him, or shall he just find out when he runs into you on the street?”

Feeling the chastisement in her voice, Vicky wanted to slither off the barstool and hide. “No, I’m going to call him…when I get a chance.”

Mildred pursed her lips. “I understand that it may still be awkward between the two of you, but if you want anything to change, you have to work at this, too. I don’t approve of the way Thomas treated you. In fact, if I heard about this when it happened, Diana would only have two daughters." She paused before adding, “Or three daughters, depending on the outcome."

Vicky had a sudden image of Tom in drag appear in her mind, and let out a snort at the hilariousness of it. “I appreciate the sentiment. I will talk to him. Just let me sort some things out first."

"Such as?"

Taking a deep breath, having mentally prepared for this earlier. “Getting my own place," she confessed. Quickly she added, “Not that I don’t like staying here, and I am extremely grateful, but I hate to be a burden on you. I’ll find a nice little one-bedroom or studio."

Millie was silent for a long while before she answered. “Your birthday was this past May." A statement, not a question. When Vicky confirmed such, she went on. “I don’t believe I got you anything."

Confused, she furrowed her eyebrows together; her aunt was jumping around topics again. “I am not sure we’re on the same topic anymore."

"Of course we are!" Her aunt laughed. “I will make you a deal. Let me spoil you, truly, this once. You can pick whatever flat or home you like, regardless of price." When Vicky started to protest, she held up a hand to stop her. “I know what you’re going to say. Nothing will change my mind, however. Just let me do this. Find a place you like, in a decent area, mind you - you will not be ‘slumming it,’ as I’ve heard it said - and I will purchase it for you. I will even have my driver stop picking you up at night since I know you feel it’s too much sometimes."

Vicky blinked several times, taking everything in before answering, “Oscar is your _driver_? I thought he was from a car service!"

Millie laughed, “Oh no, dear, Oscar is my driver. Top notch, too. Now I am going to bed. Think it over; remember, price is not an object." She got down from the barstool and stood next to Vicky. “I know it can be quite a bit to take in, so think it over, but please let me do this for you. I just want to make sure you’re happy."

With that she left Vicky in the kitchen to ponder over her offer.

Vicky sat there for another moment or two longer, nearly taking a sip of her tea again but stopped short, as she thought of what she should do. Ramses announced his presence as she thought.

"What would you say about finding a new place?" She asked her cat.

He looked up at her with his red-orange eyes and meowed in reply. Whether in confirmation or dissent she wasn’t sure.

"Ready for bed then?" The black cat seemed to understand and turned toward the stairs with an annoyed flick of his tail. “Of course you are; sorry to keep you waiting, your highness."

Gathering up her bag and depositing her cup in the sink, she followed her cat upstairs to the room she had been using for herself. Her energy flagged, and she barely had time to change and curl up under the covers, Ramses claiming his place next right next to her, before she fell asleep for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Caffé Nero, Fulham Road, Chelsea_ **

The rain had let up; it seemed, for a moment. While it was not too warm for Vicky, hovering around 80°F (26°C for the locals) the humidity was ridiculous. She didn’t even think that back home in Arizona during monsoon season the humidity felt so thick. No doubt it would start raining again soon. So she was perfectly content to sit in the cafe, munching on pastries and sipping a Mocha Frappé Latte as she browsed Zoopla for places to live.

The amount of tabs she had opened on her laptop was obscene.

Vicky had given a great deal of thought to Millie’s proposal and, with just a bit of guilt, accepted her offer. While Millie was more than willing to purchase a house for her in the most posh neighborhood in London, Vicky convinced her to let her find a place in a “pre-approved" part of the city.

There were far too many one or two bedroom flats or homes for her to narrow them down. She was going to have to become picky, she feared. Having lived in a cookie cutter apartment built in the seventies or eighties made her inclined to find a home that had a bit of character to it. It wasn’t hard to come by in this city. Just what kind of character did she want her new home to have? She was pretty sure that she’d like to have a garden or balcony so that, weather permitting; she could enjoy a bit of the outside with a good book.

By the time she was done with her frappé she had narrowed it down to four places, three in the large area between Westminster and Kentish Town, and one near Notting Hill.

Putting her laptop away she decided to pull out the book she was reading and take her mind off of things, such as building up the courage to call Tom later. She was sure that would be an interesting conversation.

When had she turned coward? Maybe it was that she was, all things considered, in such close proximity to him. There wasn’t a continent and an ocean separating them anymore, no buffer zone.

What would she say to him? “Oh sorry I’ve been here for weeks, hiding behind my job as an excuse to not call you because I didn’t know if things would be awkward or not.” Yes, that sounded like a perfect conversation starter. It was something, she was sure, a mature adult would say.

Munching on what remained of her pastry, her eyes focused on her book, but not reading, she continued to try and think of what to say to him. Nothing right way was coming to mind, plenty of sarcastic and blunt things to say but not the right words. For as much as she was a coward in not calling him, she really didn’t want to hurt him or have him think she had avoided him out of dislike.

She had just apparently reverted to a fifteen year old.

By the time she was done with her pastry, and having managed to read a few chapters of her book (if a little unfocused as she missed why Dante would do that), she decided it was probably time to leave. Rain was still absent but each time someone came in she could practically smell its approach in the air. Gathering up her litter and depositing it she decided to head a few doors down to Daunt Books. It was a sure fire way to clear her head for a few hours, or rather distract her from worrying about her impending conversation with Tom.

It seemed rather silly but she decided to read her book on the short walk to the book store, or at least reread the part she thought she missed. Or she would have if she hadn’t left her book back inside, as she came to discover when she went to pull it from its normal pocket in her messenger bag. With a sigh she turned around to go and retrieve it.

* * *

 

It was the first time since he spotted her that he had an opportunity to return to the coffee house. After the Olympics had ended he had gone off to China for several days. When he had come back he had gone home to visit his parents and then back to London where he caught up with friends and shared his tale of adventure in the desert of China.

When his schedule cleared for Saturday he immediately made sure that his morning would be free. No calls, no meetings, no business of any sort. It was because of this he found himself pleasantly surprised to see her sitting across the room from him. He had picked a leather chair with a line of sight to the entrance, hoping to spy her coming in – if she came in that day. He was not disappointed.

Now he just had to work up the courage to speak to her, find some way to approach her that didn’t start with something creepy.

As he thought up of a polite but flirty way to approach her, without scaring her off, he took a moment to study her. Her straight dark hair was pulled back, though it looked like the humidity was causing a few wisps of it to curl around her face. No glasses sat on her nose today, but a pair of sunglasses sat on top of her head instead. Again she was dressed casually nice in a pale green button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows with a white vest underneath, slim-fitting blue jeans and a pair of trainers.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he cataloged her appearance, other than it gave him something to do. Once he was done he started to question himself and his motive for coming back to try and see her again. It was not like had actually spoken to her. She could already have a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Or spouse. Maybe she was deaf - that would pose a problem in the beginning. Maybe she was a vapid, uninspiring individual who wouldn’t even be worth to shag. Truthfully he had no good reason in wanting to try and find her again when he had nothing to go on more than a few stolen glances.

Not only did he have to work up a plausible reason to approach her now, he had to convince himself it would be worth it.

Half of him said it would be worth it, most definitely, the other half was attempting to be reasonable and urging him to leave. He stalled making an actual decision by looking up game reviews and teasers on his phone. Surreptitiously he kept an eye on her lest his one half won out and he decided to approach her.

The next time he looked up she was leaving out the door. ‘So much for that,’ he thought. With a shrug he stood up, adjusting his leather jacket and looked over to where she had been sitting. There he spied a book and an umbrella.

It was right then that he decided he’d go for it. There was this window of opportunity presented to him now and he was going to take it.

Quickly he dashed over to her vacated table and snatched up the book and umbrella. As swiftly and politely as possible he slipped outside and went after her in the direction he last saw her heading.

Perhaps his brain being five steps ahead of him caused him not to be fully paying attention, but two storefronts down he had caught up with her. Just as he did so she turned around. He still had a bit of momentum from his brief sprint and they collided.

“Oh god,” she cried out as she fell backwards. He had only been thrown slightly off balanced.

“Shit,” he cursed as he tried to grab her with the hand holding her umbrella; he ended up dropping the item as he did so. All he managed to do was grab the strap of her bag, keeping it from falling to the pavement.

“I am so sorry,” he apologized as she landed on her arse, a hiss of pain sounding as she grabbed her ankle. “I was just trying to return your things. You left them behind.”

Her face scrunched up and she hissed again, not meeting his eyes. “No, that’s fine. Thank you. I was just going back for them.”

‘American then,’ he thought as he picked up on her accent. He raised an eyebrow at that. She was clearly not a tourist though. He filed that away for later. There were more pressing things to tend to. “Let me help you up,” he offered as he held out his hand.

“Thanks,” she replied and took it. As his hand closed around hers he couldn’t help but notice how pleasant if felt in his.

It was then that she finally looked up at him. Her dark eyes met his blue and he saw a dust of pink spread over her cheeks. “Oh,” was her response as he pulled her up. He wasn’t sure what it was in response to, however.

“I’m sorry, again. I was only trying to return your belongings to you.” He held out the book and caught the title on the cover. “ _Affinity_ , I heard that is supposed to be a good read. I mean I’d hope it would be, with it being a bestseller."

She gingerly took it from him. “So far it is. I haven’t finished it yet.” As she shifted from one foot to the other she nearly fell again.

Reflexively he reached out and caught her by the shoulders. “Are you alright?” His stomach dropped at the thought of her being injured because of him.

“No,” she shook her head. “I think I may have twisted my ankle on my way down to greet the sidewalk.”

Quickly he scanned around and spotted not far from them a bakery that had seating outside. “Here, let me help you to a table over there.” Without thinking he pitched the strap of her bag over his shoulder and tucked the umbrella into an empty pocket on the outside of it. He slipped an arm around her waist, and led her to an empty table and pair of chairs. His only concern at the moment was to make sure she was not injured further and taken care of.

She settled on the chair and placed her injured foot on the chair across from her as she placed the book in her lap. “I’ll be right back,” he promised and ducked inside the bakery named Paul. She watched him go in and came out a short while later with a makeshift bag of ice, made from cling film, and a small clean towel.

“Didn’t peg them to sell that sort of stuff,” she gestured to the towel when he returned.

Sheepishly he smiled at her as he crouched down by her propped foot. “They don’t. I pleaded my case convincingly enough to the staff, though; told them that my girlfriend had injured her ankle rather severely and I had to tend to her before taking her to A & E.”

She looked stunned for a moment at his comment but quickly recovered. “You don’t think I actually have to go, do you?”

He raised his eyebrows at her in a silent query to look at her ankle. When she nodded her head he gently pushed back the bottom of her jeans to take a look. He smirked at the low cut socks that peeked out from her shoes; they were white with little green dragons on them. He couldn’t stop his fingers as they caressed the smooth skin just above the edge of the sock under the pretense of inspecting the injury. It took all he had to hold back the satisfied smile as he saw from the corner of his eye as she bit her bottom and closed her eyes in the opposite of pain. It was an incredibly bold move but he wanted to see if he affected her as she seemed to have quickly come to affect him.

As he went about making a cold compress from the towel and bagged ice he gave her, what he hoped was, a dazzlingly smile. “I am no expert but I don’t think you need to be rushed over there.”

Her whole body flinched as the cold touched her skin when he applied the compress. There was just enough the towel left over to tie the ends together and keep it in place. He was actually quite impressed with his ingenuity.

"Thank you," she said as he stood up, giving him a shy smile.

"It’s the least I can do after injuring you." He returned her smile.

"Either way, thanks. Now I’ll just rest here until I can work my way to hailing a cab - no way I am walking home like this." She let out a self-deprecating laugh as she looked at her foot and then back at him. “Mind if I get my laptop bag back? Thanks for saving that, by the way. I’d kick myself if that had broken."

He looked down at the bag; its strap crossed his chest with one  of his hands gripping it. “It sounds like you’d be more upset if you lost this than getting injured."

"My ankle will heal. However if that broke," she pointed to the compartment that held her computer. “I’d lose some important work for a big project I’m a part of."

"While I am sorry I couldn’t keep you from falling I am glad then that I saved it," he replied as he started to remove her belonging. He stopped mid-movement and put it back. “You know the least I can do is drive you home. My car is not far, just on the other side of the Starbucks by the judo studio."

Her hands curled around the book and she shook her head. “Oh no, that’s ok, really -”

He shook his head stopping her from further protest. “I insist. If I hadn’t come barreling after you, you wouldn’t have been injured." He gestured to her foot. “I also clearly make an excellent nurse."

He watched as she mulled it over, debating on whether or not to trust him further.

"Fine but I swear if you try anything funny you’ll be more than sorry."

He placed his left hand over his heart. “I promise not to harm you. Besides the damage I’ve already done," he quipped and when she laughed he couldn’t help his smile grow.

"Okay then." She pulled foot off the chair and gently placed it on the ground. “Mind helping me up?" she asked as she held out her hand to him.

Taking her hand he pulled her up swiftly, the book fell on the pavement, and she swayed on her good foot into his chest before pushing off him to balance on her uninjured limb. Her hand rested lightly on his leather-clad arm. He gave her a small smile as he bent down to pick up her book and tucked it into her bag.

"I hope you don’t mind," she started, “being my crutch for a little OH MY GOD!"

To her complete surprise he scooped her up into his arms, holding her bridal style. “Stop, you’re going to drop me. I’m too heavy!" she shouted as she eyed the ground warily, her arm slipped around his neck in case he couldn’t handle her weight.

He chuckled as he shifted her slightly to get a better hold on her so that he would not be touching her anywhere inappropriate. It would not be in his favor if she thought he was trying to grope her. “Nonsense, you’re light as a feather."

Her eyes continued to watch the ground as he started to walk. “Just because you have a pretty face does not mean I am going to believe you."

"Just because _you_ have a pretty face doesn’t mean I’m wrong," he countered. Instead of trying to refute him she turned her head away, suddenly very interested in the storefronts they passed, but not before he caught the blush rise up on her cheeks.

"My mother would be ashamed of me," he told her as they crossed the small street in-between the coffeehouse and where this all had truly started. “My lack of manners would appall her."

"Despite refusing to put me down I would say otherwise," she disputed, her eyes darting to him before they returned to looking at the stores.

"She’d berate me for not properly introducing myself," he explained as he turned the corner on to Gilston Road.

She laughed as she looked at him. “I didn’t even realize that. I’m Vicky, by the way."

"Vicky," he repeated as he rolled her name on his tongue and found he quite liked saying. “That is a very lovely name."

Making her blush was something he didn’t think he would ever get tired of doing.

He was glad he had decided to drive today as he stopped in front of his car.

"Is that…an Aston Martin?" Vicky asked, a bit of awe in her voice.

He smirked, feeling a little proud of himself, and walked to the passenger side. “Yes it is." Gently he set her down and opened to door for her. “And I am Henry. It’s a pleasure to meet you."


	4. Chapter 4

Vicky quickly set about buckling herself in as Henry walked around to the driver’s side. He put her laptop bag on the seat behind his and got in.

"Where to?" he asked, smiling at her, those damn blue eyes twinkling at her.

She was a sucker for blue eyes.

She was not going to let that distract her.

"Go up to Priory Walk and turn right, then turn right on Drayton, keep heading straight," she directed him. "Just past Elm Park Road there is a private street on the left hand side. I’m in there."

He chuckled as he started the car by pushing a button on the center dash. “You are definitely not a tourist.”

"What gave it away?" she asked with a smirk.

"Your lack of guide books," he replied as pulled out and started to drive.

"I would hope I wouldn’t need a guide book. I have been coming here since I was seventeen," she chuckled.

"I don’t believe that," Henry replied, sounding very serious.

Vicky looked surprised. “Why is that?”

He looked over at her, one corner of his mouth tilted up. “I would have hoped to have noticed you before now.”

She laughed, not a cruel or mocking laugh, just one of genuine amusement. Notice her before now? He certainly didn’t remember. Not that she was looking to be noticed then.

"I’m sure if we had met before now you would have forgotten me. I don’t have a very memorable face," she blurted. Vicky quickly amended with, "Also London is kind of big.”

One of his dark eyebrows arched up at her comment. Vicky could feel her face burn again, and wanted to melt into the seat. Curse him. To escape his attention she checked the cold compress to make sure that it was all right. He had done a surprisingly good job putting it together.

"I think you underestimate yourself," he replied.

Her eyes actually went wide at that, and became even more focused on her injury.

It wasn’t far to drive, maybe five minutes, tops. So, thankfully, any awkward silence there was did not last long.

Once he pulled into the private street that led to Aunt Millie’s home, she easily directed him to one of the assigned parking slots.

Henry killed the engine and looked at her current home. “You live here?” he asked, sounding impressed. “What do you do for a living?”

"I work in VFX, and I do live here, but it’s not mine. It’s my aunt’s place, and I’m only staying here temporarily," she easily informed him.

He turned back to her. “Temporarily? Are you leaving soon?” There was a slight edge that she couldn’t pin an emotion to.

"I’m looking for a place of my own," she offered, but refrained from telling him how long she expected to be in London.

"So you plan on being here for a while?"

"Uh, yes," Vicky said as she reached for the door handle, except she didn’t find it in the spot she was expecting. "Oh, wait, where is it?"

"Let me get that," he offered. Reaching into the back seat he grabbed her bag, once again slinging it across his chest, before getting out of the car.

Before Vicky could open the door, though she had located the lever on the door’s armrest, Henry had the door open with his hand held out to her, palm up for her to take.

"Thanks." She took the proffered hand and put her good foot on the ground. He pulled her slowly.

This time he gave her warning, in the briefest of ways, before he picked her up in his arms again.

Vicky chided him, “You’re going to have to stop that. Just because I’m injured doesn’t mean I am an invalid.”

Henry looked at her as he crossed the street. “Yes, but it is a perfect excuse to hold you in my arms.”

If Vicky had been walking she would have tripped. “Yeah, see, you can’t go around saying stuff like that to people, either.”

The smile that spread across his face was nearly face-splitting. “I don’t go around saying that to people. Just you.”

Well, crap, he couldn’t go around saying shit like that, either. Before she could correct him, however, the front door swung open.

"Oh my! Miss Diaz, what on earth happened?" Heidi, Aunt Millie’s assistant, asked as she came out of the house. Vicky assumed assistant, but after yesterday’s revelation of Oscar being Millie’s driver she wasn’t so sure of Heidi’s official title.

"A brick wall ran into me," Vicky quipped. "He also decided to bring me home. Henry the Brick Wall, meet Heidi. Heidi, meet Henry the Brick Wall."

"Pleasure to meet you, Heidi," Henry replied with a smile as he carried Vicky across the threshold.

Heidi seemed a little flustered as Henry walked past her. “I…I, Miss Diaz, we weren’t expecting you home until later in the day!” Once recovered, she followed them inside and directed Henry to the reception room, and to a chaise to place Vicky on.

"Honestly, I was not expecting to be home until much later," Vicky confessed as she arranged herself better on the seat, once Henry had set her down.

Henry turned to Heidi, “That is entirely my fault as well.”

Heidi nodded at him and turned her attention back to Vicky. “Right, I’ll let your aunt know you’ve returned. Early.”

Henry turned around back to Vicky as soon as Heidi left the room. “That wasn’t your aunt?” He put her bag on the floor next to her.

She shook her head, “No. I think Heidi is her assistant.” Focused on her ankle, she untied the towel to get a better look at it. “Not as bad as I thought.”

He crouched down next to her feet, his fingers gently reaching out to touch her ankle. “No bruising, always good.” Carefully he applied pressure to it and she took a sharp intake of breath. “Sorry,” he immediately apologized. “It does look like there is some slight swelling.” His blue eyes - or almost all blue eyes, he had a bit of brown in his left - met hers as he continued, “I think you’ll be fine.”

"Are you a doctor?" a familiar voice came from across the room.

Vicky’s eyes went wide as her head snapped up, away from Henry’s gaze. “Tom!”

Tom grinned at her as he came over. “Hello, love.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Vicky very articulately replied, “Uh, uh, hi.” She took a deep breath and was mentally kicking herself. “What are you…I mean, I didn’t know you would be over today.” _Or at all_.

"Aunt Mildred invited me over for tea," Tom answered as he stood up straight.

Millie. She should have known.

"Right."

Movement out of her side vision made her look over. Henry had stood up and tucked his hands into his jean pockets. Across from him, Tom stood at his full height and mirrored the other man, whether he meant to or not, by putting his hands in his trouser pockets. For whatever reason, neither one looked happy that the other was there.

"Oh, sorry," Vicky quickly interceded. "Henry, this is Tom, my friend. Tom, this is Henry, my Good Samaritan." She wanted to facepalm at her wording. She could have chosen it a little better.

As it was, Tom looked a little hurt at his description, while Henry’s chest seemed to puff out just a bit in pride.

Tom held out his hand to Henry, “Nice to meet you.” That was one of the worst lies Vicky had ever heard him tell. Thankfully, Henry seemed to be unaware of Tom’s near inability to fib.

"Likewise," Henry replied, and shook Tom’s hand.

Sensing an awkward silence coming up, Vicky felt the urge to fill it with useless babble. “Uh, yeah. Henry was kind enough to return my book and umbrella, as well as give me a lift home after I hurt my ankle.” No need to say that he was the source of her injury.

Henry turned his kind eyes on her and smiled, “You’ll have to let me know how _Affinity_ ends. I hear the sequel just came out. I’d like to hear your opinion before I start the series.”

Vicky wanted to snort at that. As if he’d speak with her after today. Puh-leez.

"Is that a new book you’re reading?" Tom asked, as if he knew what her day-to-day goings-on were.

And suddenly she remembered she had made the decision not to let Tom know she was in the country. Nothing like a good guilt trip to bring you and your good day down.

After Vicky confirmed that she was reading a new book, Tom turned his attention back to Henry. He seemed to be squaring him up.

"I’m sorry, but you seem really familiar." Tom studied Henry, his eyes slightly narrowed in thought. "Have we met before, or do I know you from somewhere?"

Henry shook his head, “No, I don’t believe so.”

It took everything she had to refrain from rolling her eyes at the two. They were both being honest here, she could tell. Neither man had any idea who the other was. Stupid, polite British men. However, Vicky was not going to allow them to use it as an excuse to play twenty questions.

With a sigh, she held up her hand once more for introductions. “Tom Hiddleston here is also known as Loki from Marvel, as well as Captain Nicholls in _War Horse_.” She waved her hand towards the raven-haired man. “Henry Cavill is the new Superman and was also Theseus in _Immortals_.”

Both men turned their gaze on her and gave her a look as if she was speaking an alien language. It was a little scary when they both removed their hands from their pockets and crossed their arms at the same time.

“How did -” Henry began.

“What do -” Tom started.

This time she did roll her eyes. To Henry she said, “I’ve known Tom since I was seventeen. He’s one of my oldest friends.” To Tom she said, “I know Henry, aside from today, from when I worked with him briefly when he was in California filming for _Man of Steel._ ”

“Really?” Henry sounded stunned.

She grinned up at him, a bit mocking. “See, told you I wasn’t all that memorable.”

Tom shot Henry a scathing look. She could see his mind leaping to conclusions.

Henry either didn’t notice Tom’s look or ignored it. “And I said you underestimated yourself,” he replied. “Give me a moment…wait, you’re the ‘not my Superman’ girl.”

Vicky was equal parts impressed and stunned. “I didn’t think you remembered.”

She was treated to one of his 1000-watt smiles. “Yes, well, you didn’t have a camera strapped around your neck today. Threw me off a bit. Hard to forget you, especially since you told me I wasn’t your Superman.”

“What can I say?” she said with shrug, trying for an air of indifference but fearing she looked like a dork. “Christopher Reeve holds a special place in my heart.”

“Thomas, elevate her foot, if you would. The doctor will be over shortly,” Millie said as she entered the room. She stopped short at seeing Henry. “Oh my. Heidi didn’t say you were so tall.” She looked at Tom and back to Henry, then lastly at Vicky. “They grow them tall nowadays, don’t they?” Turning back to Henry, she held out her hand to him, “I am Victoria’s aunt Mildred, by the way. Thank you for escorting her home. Certainly soothed my nerves after Heidi said she was hurt.”

“I’m Henry, lovely to meet you,” he greeted her and took her hand.

"You sent for a doctor? They still make house calls?" Vicky asked, as Tom complied with Millie’s request and put pillows from a nearby sofa under her foot.

Millie smiled at her. “Of course they do. Especially at what they charge and I pay.” She walked over to Tom and patted his shoulder. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Tom stood up, looking well pleased with himself, and shot Henry a look. He looked like a cat who had stolen the cream.

"Now, if you boys could give me and my favorite niece a moment alone, there is something I’d like to talk to her about."

"Right," Henry replied. "I should probably be going, anyway." He bent down and took Vicky’s hand in his, kissing her knuckles. Tom didn’t even try to hide his scoff, and Millie let out a soft, "Oh!"

From where his lips softly touched her hand she felt a streak of warmth run up her arm. A giddy smile spread across her face.

As Henry stood up once more, he held her hand lightly in his. “What are your favorite flowers?”

"Tulips," she answered. "Why do you want to know?"

He let her hand go, though it was still suspended in the air. “I’m going to send you flowers tomorrow. Wanted to make sure I am sending the right ones.”

Vicky sat on the chaise in stunned silence as Henry said goodbye to Millie and Tom, and was seen to the front door by Heidi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any of you were wondering what Aunt Mildred’s home looks like feel free to [check this out](http://www.zoopla.co.uk/property-history/8-chelsea-park-gardens/london/sw3-6aa/26824529). Mind you, this isn’t her main home. Its her “small” city house.


	5. Chapter 5

Once Henry was gone and Tom had been excused from the room, Heidi went off to do whatever Heidi did, Aunt Millie sat on the chair the doctor had pulled over to examine Vicky’s foot.

The sprain was not bad, just as Henry predicted. A week of it being wrapped up and wearing high-top shoes would help things along, as well as the painkillers. Glorious painkillers.

“I want to let you know,” Millie began as she adjusted herself on the seat, “that I was not planning to entrap you with asking Tom to tea. I had thought you would be out for a while.”

Vicky smiled at her aunt. “I kind of figured that. Heidi seemed rather surprised I came home when I did.”

“I only wanted to give him a firm talking to.” She looked around the room conspiratorially before she leaned in. “So who was tall, dark, and handsome?”

Doing her best not to laugh, Vicky replied, “He is someone I worked with briefly a while ago. He’s also an actor, and after I literally ran into him he gave me a lift home.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “Oh, and he has a really nice car.”

Millie studied Vicky for a few moments, her older eyes picking up on the things that clearly Vicky didn’t see or chose to ignore. “Clearly you have a type: tall, blue-eyed, and British to boot.” She rose from her chair and smoothed out the wrinkles in her outfit. “Or maybe that type has a thing for you. Either way, I’ll send Thomas in. You two have some catching up to do.”

While Vicky gave her a congenial smile, internally she was groaning and her stomach started to tighten. This was not exactly how she had pictured talking to Tom would start. Mentally she prepared herself for the worst-case scenario. She was expecting harsh looks, an accusatory tone, and pouting.

Instead Tom re-entered the room looking a bit hesitant. He took Millie’s vacated chair as his seat. His hair was shorter than when she had seen him last. He looked a little thinner, too. Hair aside, he looked more like the boy she had first met, his features only more defined now.

"So the prognosis is good, no need to amputate the limb?" he joked.

Vicky couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, he said it was a close call. I’ll never be able to race in the Olympics again.”

Tom chuckled and reached out a hand to take hers before pulling away. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

"It’s good to see you too, Tom."

At hearing her say his name he seemed to relax and his eyes brightened. “You know, I’ve known you were in London for a while now.”

Her eyebrows shot up. Why hadn’t he said anything? “Really? I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner; truthfully, I didn’t know how long I was going to be here. And I’ve been working non-stop basically since I arrived. I wasn’t trying to avoid you.” Sort of.

"It’s all right." The laugh lines around his eyes were evident as he smiled at her. "Emma told me that you were here, and finishing up your work on a movie. I figured you had your nose to the grindstone, and weren’t about to look up anytime soon.”

“It doesn’t seem like I’ll be lifting my nose anytime soon,” she confessed.

This obviously piqued Tom’s interest as his eyebrows did their wonky thing, rising in question.

“I’ve been hired on as a lead for a new project; last one had to bow out for personal reasons. It’s a project you might be familiar with.”

She definitely had his full attention at that. “Oh, really? You’ve been working on _Man of Steel_ recently; is there a new Batman movie that I am unaware of?”

Choosing to ignore most of his comment, Vicky replied with, “You’ll love it. _Thor: The Dark World_.”

“Are you having a laugh?”

“No, I am serious. I am going to be the one to make sure you and all your friends actually look like superheroes.”

Tom’s head went back and let loose one of his now infamous laughs.

She laughed and rolled her eyes at his mirth. “Look, if I am going to stay off my feet for the rest of the day and do nothing, want to help me out?”

“Anything.” The cheer was still in his eye, but his demeanor grew serious.

Vicky couldn’t deny the way her heart gave a little skip when he said that, the way he said that. He made it sound as if he was making her a promise. What kind of promise she just wasn’t sure of.

“I figure I might as well as sloth in style and head to the cinema room downstairs. Care to join me?”

He licked his lips and then the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You just want to use me as a crutch to go down those stairs.”

Vicky held up her hands in surrender. “You’ve seen through my nefarious scheme!” With a melodramatic flair, her right hand went to her forehead in a classic damsel-in-distress pose. “Whatever shall I do?”

Tom chortled as he stood up and cut quite the figure against the posh background of the reception room. Ever tall, he looked handsome in a white V-neck shirt under a black suit coat, trousers, and dress shoes. As usual, he was easy on the eyes. It really wasn’t fair that men like him and Henry walked this earth.

Wait. Where did that last bit come from?

He held his hand out to her, his fingers echoing the rest of his long limbs, and graciously she took it. Tom slowly wrapped his fingers around her hand, as if he was savoring her touch, before he pulled her up. Vicky wobbled a bit and his free hand went to her upper arm to steady her. They looked at each other and exchanged a shared laugh.

"Ready, love?" he asked as his eyebrows did the little dance that they often did.

With a nod from her he looped her arm through his and helped her hobble her way to the stairs.

The basement of Millie’s home was pretty amazing, Vicky thought. It had a bedroom with an en suite, a second kitchen/laundry room, a room for storage, and a whole control room for all the technology Millie had upgraded the house with. The cherry on top was the media room, but as the saying went “When in Rome,” she made sure to call it the cinema. It was easy to see why it was one of Vicky’s favorite rooms in the house. Besides the nice large screen to watch anything from the news to blu-rays on, the ceiling had LED lights suspended in it to make you feel as if you were under the stars. Two rows of large leather chairs that could easily fit two people each - too small to be a loveseat but too big to be a normal chair - made up the seating for one’s viewing enjoyment.

Tom helped her settle into one of the chairs in the front before going to the back of the room to retrieve a blanket from the cupboard. Millie’s home had a brand new HVAC and she had it turned on throughout the home to counteract the humidity and heat. This made the basement a fairly cold place. While he was back there he perused the vast movie selection. Tom picked _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_. If and when they spoke, neither would be terribly upset at missing a part. He quickly figured out how to operate the video and audio system, started the movie, and returned to Vicky.

He held out the blanket to her and she took it. “Share?” she offered as the first scene was underway.

“Please,” he replied as he took off his suit jacket and draped it on the seat behind them. Tom took a seat on the same chair as Vicky, leaving a gap between them. She flung out the blanket in front of them, and allowed it to settle gently around them like the morning fog. Her good foot was tucked up under her as she waited, sure that he was going to ask or make a comment…

He didn’t last more than two minutes.

“So how do you know him?” Tom inquired. At her feigned look of confusion he clarified. “Henry, how do you know him exactly?”

“I told you. He bought me some ice for my ankle, and then brought me home. Acting like the knight-in-shining-armor stereotype everyone back home thinks of you British men.”

“Before that. You said you met him on set?”

Of course Tom would remember that. “Uh, yeah. A co-worker and I were very devious, and convinced our bosses and studio people that we needed to go on set at Edwards Air Force Base to get better reference pics. It wasn’t entirely true; we were just very nosy. We ran into Henry, used our cover story, and took some shots of him in his costume. I gave him a ribbing about how Christopher Reeve would always be my number one Superman.” It was nothing exciting, no hidden glances, no flirtatious double-speak. Especially since at the time Vicky had been engaged to Callum. Her colleague informed her the next day that Henry was taken as well, as they had lamented about all the good-looking ones being taken. “And, as you can see, I left such a lasting impression on him that he didn’t even recognize me.”

"Then he is an idiot," was Tom’s response.

Vicky was not sure if he was jesting or serious. Trust Tom to send mixed signals. “It doesn’t matter. After today he’ll forget all about me.”

"I highly doubt that." He was completely serious as he spoke. "I saw the way he looked at you. No doubt his promise to send you flowers tomorrow will come to fruition."

She turned to him and rolled her eyes. Really, she felt he was being a bit childish. “Even if he did, it would only be to apologize for knocking me over.”

"That bastard did what?" Tom snapped, his eyes set aflame and his nostrils flared. Long fingers curled into fists. "I’ll find him; make him pay for daring to lay a hand on you."

"Tom," Vicky spoke firmly, but calmly, as reached out to him. She covered his hand with hers, willing him to relax. She hurried on to explain, "It wasn’t his fault. He was rushing up behind me trying to return my things that I had left behind, and at the same time I turned around and ran right into him. I fell, twisted my ankle, and next thing you know I am sitting next to you completely ignoring Indiana Jones.” Her hand squeezed his, finally feeling some of the tension release from it. "Which is a damn shame, because, really, Harrison Ford looks hot.”

The rest of the tension released from his body as he laughed and put an arm around her, tucking her into his side. It was an action that rang familiar to their relationship prior to their fight, but at the moment something told her Tom needed this. He needed to reaffirm that she was there, real, and not going anywhere for the time being.

As if to confirm this, he said, “I missed you terribly, Vicky.” She felt his lips press into her hair.

“I missed you too, Tom.” And she had. It was the first time she had let herself admit it, but she had missed him. Far longer than he had missed her, she thought, but she didn’t bring that up. Avoiding any unpleasantness, she surrendered to the moment by wrapping her arms tighter around Tom’s waist.

*

Vicky was lying on her side in the cinema room. The movie was off, and the blanket was tucked around her. That was all fine and dandy, except she didn’t remember falling asleep. Oh, god. She hoped she didn’t drool. Quickly her hand shot up, checking to make sure neither of her cheeks had slobber on them. A great sigh of relief exited her lungs when she found none.

Putting the blanket on the chair next to her, she got up and stretched. Tom was nowhere in sight. She didn’t think that he would have left without saying goodbye. Deciding to go search for him she stood up only to quickly shift all her weight to her good leg after she forgot that she had been injured. Not one to let that hold her back, she hobbled up the short flight of stairs to the door, nearly giving a repeat performance from that morning. Just as she reached the top, Tom entered the room holding two plates with pizza from what appeared to be from Buona Sera Jam, a local Italian joint.

“Whoa!” he cried, holding the plates up above their heads as Vicky flattened herself against the wall to avoid the crash. “Sorry, Vic, I didn’t know you were awake.” He gave her a sheepish grin as she pulled away from the wall. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered us dinner.”

“Dinner?” Vicky asked, shocked. She pulled her phone from her pocket. Indeed, it was evening. She had slept most of the day away.

“I’m sorry, I’m horrible company today. I didn’t think I was that tired. Or tired at all. Must have been the drugs.”

Smile still on his face, Tom walked down the steps to where they had been sitting previously. “From what Mildred told me, you sounded as if you needed it, with your late nights at work. We finally had our chat while you were asleep, if you were wondering.”

Carefully hopping down the steps she followed him. “Yeah? What about?”

After he moved the blanket to a chair on the row behind them, he sat in the oversized chair next to the one they had shared, while Vicky claimed her former spot and seat. “How I am the largest moronic fool in the world.”

“Oh,” was her response. She didn’t want to agree with him, even if it was true, but she didn’t really want to tell a white lie either.

Handing her a plate, Tom nodded his head as if he understood all that her one-syllable response encompassed. “She, as you know, was completely right. Every word, she hit it on the nail. She said for all my brains I was lacking a great deal of common sense.”

Not wanting to respond, again, she took a bite of the pizza and made some noncommittal sounds. She had an idea of what Millie had said to him, she didn’t need to hear the details, especially since as he spoke he still seemed so affected by it. Vicky actually didn’t think she had ever seen him as vulnerable as he seemed at that moment. He looked boylike and scared, nothing like the grown, (fairly) mature man that she knew. Unsure how to proceed with this different side of Tom, she sat there debating between action and inaction.

Her indecisiveness spread and turned into silence as they ate; the only words they shared were to comment on the deliciousness of the food.

"Can I tell you something?" Tom asked when they were finished. He took her empty plate and stacked it on top of his, placing them to the side on the floor and out of the way.

"Anything," she answered, curious to hear what he was going to say.

"I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and…I don’t think I’ve really told anyone this before."

His tone was hesitant and unsure, as if he was scared that she’d reject him for the words that would be travelling across his lips. Unless Tom was going to tell her that he was an alien from outer space here to suck the brains from her skull, she highly doubted that she would judge him for anything he’d confess.

Hoping to calm his nerves she scooted closer to him, so that only the arms of the chairs separated them, and took Tom’s hand in hers. Vicky gave it a squeeze and pulled it toward her, and without thinking she started to make soothing circles on his thumbnail. It was something she used to do all the time when they were closer. Whether it was the touch of Vicky’s hand, or the way her thumb glided over his nail as if it was a worry stone, or just knowing that she was there for him, it helped him relax enough to continue.

"I thought," he started and took a gulp of air; his Adam’s apple bobbed. "I have thought for a long time that I had moved past Mum and Dad divorcing. In a way I have, I suppose. I did my five stages of grief over it and moved on. I didn’t realize how intensely it had affected me, how it clung to me, like the coldness clings to winter." Tom’s eyes locked onto Vicky’s as he spoke. "There I was, far away from either of them or my sisters. No one to cry to or lean on. It was a different kind of alone than what I was used to. I’ve always had my family, but I fear I have a bit of a middle-child syndrome. I was always looking for ways to make sure my parents knew I was there. I knew my parents loved me, but I felt I was lost between my sisters unless I was doing something that drew attention to me; impersonations, putting on plays, being a generally loud and obnoxious boy."

He paused, tears creeping up into his eyes. Vicky gripped his hand tightly. Tom had never told her any of this. When he did talk to her about his parents’ divorce it was always in more of a casual tone.

Tom continued to talk. “I got into acting at school. No one cared when you were on the stage what the reason was that caused you to call up feelings of anger in a scene, or to cry, or be introspective. Everything I bottled up during the day I could release on stage.” His eyes grew distant for a moment as he thought back to his time at Eton. “When performing, people saw me, and I wasn’t mocked for the feelings I displayed. Or the fact that it almost felt as if I was sent away because I was unwanted. Acting did make me feel as if people saw me, as did rugby. My teammates needed me, but what I felt while I was performing, and praise for one could not be compared to the other.”

Once again he paused and took a stuttering breath before he collected himself. “Acting never helped me let go of the fact that I could just as easily end up in a broken relationship. I’ve gone into almost every relationship thinking that it would not end well.” Tom pulled her hand up and pressed his lips to it. A few tears escaped as he closed his eyes. When he spoke his thin lips brushed lightly over her skin on the back of her hand. “I ended up being so scared of our possible relationship ending, and me losing you, that I pushed you away, thinking it better to have never started at all than to have it end badly.”

By now Vicky had tears of her own in her eyes. “Tom, oh, Tom,” was the only thing she could manage to say, her voice thick, her chest constricting.

He shook his head; eyes squeezed shut, not wanting her to continue, her hand still pressed to his mouth. “I just wanted you to know. That it was all me and not you. That I took for granted your love and friendship. I understand now why you wanted to create such a distance between us, why you wanted to…why you wanted to…” A sob escaped him when he was unable to finish. “You’ve always seen me, Vicky. I’ve never felt like I had to perform for you.”

Vicky knew then what Tom had been unable to finish. What his greatest fear was. She got up, hand still held in his, and went to take up residence next to him. He finally let go of her hand, seeing that she wasn’t going anywhere but closer to him. He turned so that he was facing her as she sat. Vicky wrapped her arms around him and Tom buried his face in her neck. She could feel his warm breath caress her skin as they held each other.

Then she made a promise, a promise she didn’t know if she’d able to keep the way he wanted.

"I’m not leaving, Tom. I’m not going anywhere."


	6. Chapter 6

Vicky and Tom held each other for a long while. Then they started to talk. Really talk. They talked about their work. (Tom talked about his Jarmusch movie and working with Joanna again. She told him all about the projects she had done. Including her work on _Life of Pi,_ the source of her department’s termination and the eventual closure of her previous employer.) Tom talked about improving his run-time. He talked about feeling a draw to go back to the stage. Vicky expressed her jealousy at his ability to run as much as he did. She also lamented that she probably would not find any batting cages where she could tackle her frustrations as she used to back home. Perhaps she'd take up jogging. She also confessed her trepidation at taking on such a large role for something that was sure to be a blockbuster. Vicky received a “Bless you” for that. Tom was told, “I was referring to Chris and Natalie.”

Eventually they emerged from the lower level and made their way to an add-on Millie had built at the back of the house. It had no definite purpose but it did offer a lovely view, with its all-glass roof, and comfortable sofas and chairs. Perfect to sit under and gaze at the stars as you sat sipping some wine.

Which is exactly what Tom and Vicky did.

They had long since lost track of time, talked and laughed more than they had in years, and perhaps lost count of how many glasses they had drunk, when it was decided they should turn in for the night. Vicky would not allow him to leave the house, no matter how much he protested he was not the slight…the bittest…the lestest…that he was not drunk.

With arms wrapped around each other they helped each other up to the floor with Vicky’s room and the first set of guest rooms.

"That is not fair," Tom drunkenly whined from her doorway. "You have a fireplace."

Vicky rolled her eyes as she did an awkward shuffle-hop combo to her bed where she picked up her pyjamas. “Because that’s exactly what you think of when the humidity is almost one-hundred percent.” She started to unbutton her shirt and stopped midway. “Thomas, turn around!”

He chuckled and obliged, his brain too fuzzy to remind her that he had seen her in less. Far less.

"You know how I do like it when you say my full name."

"You’re incorrigible," came her muffled reply through a shirt as it went over her head.

Tom started to turn around and then remembered her earlier request. “What can I say? I have a weakness for women who call me on my shite.”

"You can turn back around."

She wasn’t wearing sexy lingerie or something cutesy that you’d see in movies when they were attempting to portray “casual” sleepwear. No matching sets or Japanese animal characters stamped on her clothing. Instead she wore a green v-neck shirt ( _Tom’s_ shirt - he’d forgotten she had it) with blue and red shorts…

"Are those Superman shorts?" He asked in disbelief.

"Have a little faith, Tom," she scoffed as she placed a hand on her hip. "They’re Captain America shorts."

Yes, those mismatched pyjamas were perfect and the sexiest thing he had seen on a woman in that moment.

He attempted to walk toward her with a bit of swagger, but instead to Vicky he looked like a floppy Woody from Toy Story. She couldn’t help but laugh at the visual she got of Tom dressed in a ridiculous cowboy outfit.

"And any ego I had has now completely left," Tom smiled as he stopped before her.

Vicky just shook her head. Before she could reply Ramses entered her room, announcing his presence with a meow.

The black cat stopped mid-stride when he spotted Tom. He flicked his tail as if to dismiss him and tilted his chin up as he walked past the British man.

"Hey buddy," Tom cooed as he bent down to run his fingers along the feline’s back. Red eyes met his and seemed to ask what exactly Tom thought he was doing, and how dare he touch him.

"I don’t think he remembers me," Tom said with disbelief and stood back up. After all he had changed the cat’s litter box in the past. Least the little beast could do was acknowledge him.

Vicky giggled as she picked up the cat. “I think the problem is the opposite. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven you for moving out.”

Tom tilted his head as he eyed Ramses. “That’s a long time to hold a grudge.”

Ramses opened his mouth in a silent hiss, directed at Tom, before jumping down from Vicky’s arms. He padded over to a comfy-looking chair in the corner, curling up so that he could keep an eye on his once person.

"He has a long memory, I guess," Vicky just shrugged. "I don’t know about you, but I am going to hit the hay. There are two rooms to the left of my door that you can crash in tonight."

"Ah," Tom muttered. "Right. The other rooms." He shuffled his right foot back and forth. "I’ll just get going." With a nod of his head he left the room.

A bit confused by the way he departed, she brushed it off and went to bed.

* * *

 

It was early in the morning. The sun was just starting to emerge from its nightly abode. Ramses was curled behind Vicky’s knees as she slept on her side. Her dark hair, which had been pulled back neatly when she was awake, was attempting to escape from its confines.

And Tom felt like a creeper as he stood there before he said goodbye.

He had meant to be quick and say goodbye, but his breath had caught in his chest when he saw her. There was nothing he wanted to do more than curl up under the blankets with her and hold her close. They had made great strides in their relationship last night, but he did not think they were quite where he would like to be.

Running a hand through his hair he approached her. From past experience he knew it was a dangerous thing to wake her this early. He’d take the chance, though.

Placing a gentle hand on her shoulder he gave her a small shake. “Vicky,” he cooed. “Love, wake up.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together and she cracked open one eye. “Te voy a matar.”

Tom chuckled, “I am sure you will. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving.”

Both her eyes opened at that, and she peeked at the window. “No sun. Back to bed.”

"Yes, but I have to go."

"No fun."

"I know." Tom leaned down and smoothed back her hair. He kissed her cheek. "I will ring you later."

Vicky grumbled some more, in Spanish and English, before snuggling further into her blankets. It was a good thing the home had an air unit or she would be roasting.

With one backwards glance at her Tom left the room, his heart both lighter and heavier for it.

* * *

 

The sound wasn’t coming from her alarm, which she had not set, and it wasn’t Ramses pawing to escape, rather it was coming from her door and the person rapping on it.

Unburying her head from the covers she looked at the window. The sunlight that filtered in was far too cheerful and bright for her.

"Yes?" She croaked out, seeing as the person was not going to leave.

"There is someone at the door for you," Aunt Millie’s voice came from the other side.

Vicky suddenly remembered Tom saying goodbye to her this morning. And that he’d…something. Oh, who cares what the exact wording was.

She shot up out of bed, quickly undoing her hair and finger-combing it back before redoing it into a ponytail once more. She yanked open the door, smiling from ear to ear. “Tom is downstairs, isn’t he?”

Before Millie could answer her, Vicky was down one flight of stairs and then another, paying special care to her ankle, and straight past Heidi carrying a vase of variegated flowers.

"There are so many, Miss Diaz!" Heidi cried as Vicky ran by her.

Vicky mumbled something with an added, “Morning!” Her feet slapped on the cool tiled floor as she went to the front door. It was already open and someone was coming in with another vase of flowers. Red ones. Bobbing around the delivery man, since she didn’t see Tom in the reception room, Vicky poked her head outside. There was a distinct lack of a certain tall, dark blonde man. However there was a very familiar car she could see around the florist’s delivery van.

Turning around slowly she found a tall, dark smiling Henry holding a vase full of red tulips. “I see that good morning is still in order.”

Until that moment her complete lack of bra and her sleeping attire was of no concern. With a squeak, as she folded her arms across her chest, she excused herself and ran back up the stairs.

Henry couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard her aunt admonish her on the virtue of patience.

When her aunt came down and saw him standing there, she raised an eyebrow and then lowered it. “I will tell you this now; you break her heart and I will bury you somewhere so remote and off the maps that it will be archeologists digging you up. Do I make myself clear?” There was no humor in her voice, and she said it with the air of a queen sentencing a prisoner to death. When his only response was to blink in shock at her words, she gave him a polite smile. “Now let’s find a place to put those, and we’ll have a cuppa while she gets ready.” She then led him into the kitchen.

Despite her threat, Mildred, as she preferred to be called (“I am not anyone’s ‘Missus’. No need to address me as such.”), was a very congenial woman in her later years. He was also surprised to find out that she was not a native Brit, but rather from New Zealand, where she had met her late husband and to where her children had returned. He briefly wondered if New Zealand was where she had in mind to “bury” him.

As Mildred finished her tea she looked over her cup at Henry. “So you’re an actor, Hank.”

Henry was once again thrown off by her words, at the name she used for him. It was not as if he had not been called Hank, he just had not been expecting it.

"Yes, I am an actor," Henry replied.

Mildred waved her hand around once as she spoke, “Do you also run around in a cape?”

He chuckled at her question. “I have worn a cape for a role.” Henry wondered if she had any idea about his upcoming film.

Mildred nodded her head once. “And you wear a superhero costume.”

"Yes."

"Pity," she replied, "I was hoping for something different. You see Victoria is very close to my nephew Thomas, who does film and theatre. The superhero thing is old hat."

He leaned forward a bit. In a conspiratorial voice he said, “If I am not mistaken he played a villain, not a hero. He tried to destroy the world, while I save it.”

She looked mildly impressed. “Hm, yes. We’ll see about that.”

“How many are there?” Vicky’s voice from could be heard as she passed Heidi into the kitchen, her shoes clunking on the floor tile.

“More than you’d think,” Heidi giggled.

“And she emerges,” Mildred quipped, taking their cups to the sink and slipping away.

Standing, he had his own retort ready to say, but it died as soon as he saw Vicky.

She wore a jean jacket over a white dress with what he would describe as an American Southwest pattern on it. Her dark hair had been tamed by a braid that fell over her right shoulder. Brown lace-up boots finished things off.

“It’s not that late,” Vicky shot to her aunt, but she was already gone. Leaving her there with Henry.

His apparent good looks did not seem to be a fluke. Damn him.

“So you sent all these flowers?” she asked, breaking the ice as she wandered over to the dining table, where a vase of red tulips sat. They were the same flowers that he had been holding when she had first encountered him near the front door.

“Yes,” Henry replied as he watched her move across the floor. It was clear she favored her sprained ankle as she walked; not that she had a serious limp, but her off-gait did nothing to detract from her gorgeous, curvy caramel legs. His fingers on his right hand twitched, and he had to put his hand in his pocket in order to keep it in line.

Vicky turned around, aiming a questioning look at him. “Why so many, though?”

“I wasn’t sure which color you liked,” he explained. “I thought better safe than sorry.”

She laughed, turned back around to smell the tulips quickly before facing him again. “You were sure to get the color right, then. Red is my favorite.”

The corner of his mouth went up. “Point for me.”

“Indeed,” was her response. “So what can I do for you on this fine day?”

Up until that moment they had been on two opposite sides of the room. Slowly Henry started to approach her, trying to give off an air of nonchalance as he did so.

Vicky could feel her cheeks begin to redden as he walked towards her. There was no good reason for her face to embarrass her so. It wasn’t like he looked ridiculously good in a white button up shirt, sleeves rolled up, paired with dark jeans. His hair was on the curly side and she did not want to know if it felt as soft as it looked. Nope, not at all.

And what was it with tall men? Why did they have to be so…tall?

She licked her lips as he stopped in front of her. His blue eyes darting down to her mouth was not hard to miss. Henry was not invading her space by any means; Vicky was just having a hard time deciding if she would attempt to play it flirty and step closer to him, or stay where she was.

Her cowardice won out and she stayed where she was.

“Would you care to go for a drive?” Henry asked.

“A drive?”

"Yes, it’s an ancient term one uses to refer to getting in a car and traveling aimlessly through the country." Vicky gave him a nonplussed look at which he couldn’t help but laugh. "I saw that you appreciated my car yesterday, and thought you might enjoy going out in it. London, while a lovely place, can make it difficult to enjoy any time spent in a car. And with your ankle I’d be inconsiderate if I forced you to walk around."

She raised an eyebrow at him, deciding in her mind to give him a good ribbing. “You’re saying all this as if you know I’m going to say yes.”

"Aren’t you?"

She had to hand it to him, the man was confident. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve really only just met you. Plus, there is the fact that it is kinda your fault my ankle is the way it is.” She looked down at her feet, “And the reason I have to wear boots in this weather.”

He moved a step closer, the space between them getting smaller. “I hope you know that was not on purpose, no matter how much I wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t harm you.”

They came to the same realization of what he had said together. It was Henry’s turn for his cheeks to turn pink.

"I may be jumping to conclusions here," Vicky said slowly, "but did you come out of that coffee shop just to speak to me?"

Henry felt very nervous then, taking his hand out of his pocket. It instantly went to the ring on his left hand, where he began to worry it side to side.

"I had talked myself out of talking to you by then," Henry confessed. "I was truly only trying to return your belongings."

The little swell Vicky had felt rising in her chest quickly deflated. Right, of course. How could she have been so silly? Him wanting to talk to her? In her dreams.

"Oh." She turned, her eyes not meeting his, to look at the flowers. "You know, I think with my foot - "

Henry wrapped his hand around hers, effectively stopping her from finishing her thought. “Doesn’t mean I am not infinitely glad I was given another opportunity to speak with you.”

Vicky looked down at her hand in his. It was comforting to have her hand in his. Looking back up she gave him a smile that Henry was convinced chased away the rain from yesterday.

"When do you want to leave?" Vicky asked.


	7. Chapter 7

The humidity was no longer trying to smother the populace and the sky was mostly clear; over all it was starting off to be a nice day.

Henry stopped at a bakery where they picked up a box filled with delicious pastries, seeing as one of them had only awakened recently, and Vicky got the biggest cup of coffee they offered.

"How much sugar are you going to add in there?" Henry asked as he watched her put yet another packet of sugar into her drink, on top of the milk she had already added.

"As many as I need to take the edge off," she replied with a sweet smile as she stirred her sweet concoction. "Stick with me and you'll learn, the more, the better."

Then they were heading north out of London, and to the west.

"So where are you taking me?" Vicky asked once London was left behind.

"To lunch."

"And where will we be having this 'lunch'?"

He looked over at her, grinning. "Have you ever been to Prestbury?"

She turned the name over in her head before confirming in the negative.

"Good," he replied and turned his eyes back to the road. "I wanted to take you somewhere you hadn't been before."

She laughed, "There was nowhere in London you could have taken me?"

"Oh, I am sure there was, but you said you'd been coming here since you were seventeen. I'd hate to take you to a place that you've been to a dozen times." He turned the volume down on the radio to make it easier to talk. "How many years have you been coming here, exactly?"

"Almost ten years," she answered. "And bonus points for the smooth way of figuring out my age."

He looked over at her. "With these bonus points I am earning is there a prize?"

Her hands gripped the sides of her leather seat. "Maybe, I dunno. You need to stop looking over here and keep your eyes on the road."

"Does it make you nervous?" His eyes remained on her, not even attempting to pay attention to what was before them.

"Yes!" She waved her right arm in front of her, gesturing at the windshield. "This isn't _The Fast and Furious_!"

Turning back to look forward he said, "Sorry. It's a little distracting when there is a beautiful woman beside me." Surreptitiously he looked over at her and caught sight of her right hand shaking. "That really did scare you, didn't it?"

Vicky nodded her head, not daring to look at him. "I just...after all this time my brain can't comprehend driving on the other side of the road. It freaks me out sometimes, especially if I'm not used to the driver – nothing against you. You'd think I'd be used to it, but I'm not; its part of the reason why I'll never drive a car here, I just can't handle it."

Making sure to keep his eyes on the road, he reached out with his left hand and wrapped it around her right hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Vicky let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry. I'm weird. I'm less of a spaz if I am distracted."

"Am I not distracting enough?" Henry quipped.

She laughed nervously, "No. I mean, you are, I mean -”

Henry laughed, easily. "It's okay." Truthfully, he liked seeing how he could fluster her. "How about a reverse interview? I’ll do the question asking and you answer."

"Are you going to ask what my diet and workout routine is?" She asked as he briefly let go of her hand to turn on the cruise control.

"No. I'm going to ask deep, insightful questions. Such as, where is your hometown?"

Henry reclaimed Vicky's hand as she answered. "I grew up just outside of Phoenix, Arizona. Little suburb called Gilbert."

"So you're used to the heat?"

"Yes, but not the humidity. Gilbert is dry. I am perfectly capable with it being 110 Fahrenheit at night if it’s dry. But 70 with 98% humidity it’s just unbearable." Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she spoke. "I used to think you all were pansies, but now I have sympathy if you have to deal with this humidity."

"Thank you for your sympathy. Uh, where did you live before moving here?"

"West Hollywood," Vicky said, feeling the tension release as she talked to him. "I used to work for a visual effects studio in Santa Monica."

"I used to live in West Hollywood," Henry said excitedly. "Wonder if you ever came to the restaurant I worked at."

"Depends. When did you live there?"

Henry had to think how long ago that was. "I think 2004 or 2005? No, I left in 2006 and came back over here." The realization it had been so long ago hit him then. "That was donkeys ago."

"What, what?" Vicky asked, the words nearly coming out together as one word.

It took him a moment to understand what she was confused about. "It was a long time ago. You've never heard that term before?"

She shook her head. "My father is from here, I have two good friends that are English, and another who married a Brit. I have never heard _any_ of them say that."

"To be fair, I grew up on Jersey, but we are getting off topic." He gave her hand a playful shake. "Do you think our paths crossed six or so years ago?"

"Sadly no," Vicky replied. Out of the corner of his eye he caught her looking out the window. "I was up in San Jose going to university there."

"I'm glad to hear that I did not miss another opportunity to know you." Their fingers were not twined as they held hands, so he ran his thumb across the backs of her fingers.

Granted, at the time of his first meeting with her he was in a completely different circumstance than he was in now. He hadn't been looking at any woman, really, as he was with Ellen. Henry did remember that he'd had to force himself to put out of mind the smiling girl with the large Nikon hung around her neck, as she politely told him she looked forward to seeing his performance but that Christopher Reeve would be hard to top in her ledger.

* * *

 

The Royal Oak Inn was hopping, Vicky thought as they entered. It seemed that there was something called the Cheese and Cider Festival going on. Henry, thankfully, had called ahead and booked them a table. She was curious how far in advance he had to do something like that, considering how busy it was for the festival, or what strings he pulled to accomplish it. She seriously hoped that they hadn't bumped someone else out of their reservation.

In the loud, and a little rowdy, freehouse they were seated at the end of a little wooden booth. It was right next to the fireplace, which thankfully was not on.

After taking everything in - from the old wooden bar to the well-worn carpet - she turned back to Henry. She liked to imagined this was a quintessential English pub.

He said something to her, but it was lost in the noise. "What?" She shouted back at him.

"I asked," he said louder than before, "did you enjoy the drive out here? What did you think?"

Vicky smiled at him. "It was great! And once you got me to stop worrying about you driving into oncoming traffic I was able to appreciate how wonderful your car is!"

Henry had done a wonderful job of distracting her. He had her talking about anything from her favorite class at San Jose to what she saw out the window as they drove.

Really, once he wasn't trying to impersonate Paul Walker, the drive was nice and the car even nicer. He had no problem putting the pedal to the metal to demonstrate how fast it could go. The purr of the DB9 as it weaved around slower cars was a beautiful sound, to say the least.

"Wishing for one of your own?" He grinned at her. Vicky admitted to herself that his smile and teeth were among the most attractive she had ever seen.

"No, that's okay." She held her hands up in protest. "I think the closest I'll get to having a motor vehicle here would be something like a Vespa."

He laughed, "A Vespa, really?"

"Don't knock 'em. They're pretty cool little bikes." She fiddled with one of the silver buttons on her jean jacket, her eyes slipping away from his. “And if not a Vespa then I’ll just stick to the Tube, train and taxis. I’ve done all right by them so far.”

It intrigued Henry, to say the least, to see her go from confident to shy. She’d rise up to challenge him one moment, and then the next she’d retreat away from him. He thought at first that perhaps she was trying her hand at hard to get. It wasn’t that, he realized now. It was as if she was holding back, that she was scared of revealing too much of herself. It made him wonder what had happened, what made her hold back.

“If you ever get tired of the Tube you know you can always ring me up,” Henry offered.

“That will be a little hard, since I don’t think I even have your phone number,” Vicky teased.

He held out his hand. “Let me remedy that.”

Her eyes followed his fingers as she watched him curl them in a “give me” gesture. Pulling her phone from her purse she unlocked it and opened it up to a new contact before handing it over to him. His fingers flew across the screen as he put in his information. She was beginning to think that maybe he had forgotten his phone number when he finally handed it back to her. Looking over his information she laughed. He had given her not only his phone number, but his email as well. Henry had also nicknamed himself “The Hot One”. She supposed it was to differentiate him from any other Henry she may meet in the future.

“I’m surprised you didn’t put your birthday in there,” Vicky jested.

Without hesitation he answered, “Fifth of May.”

“Mine’s May first,” she replied as she put her phone away.

He held his hand out, as if that explained everything. “Well then, there you have it, we’re meant to be together.”

They both had a good laugh at that until someone came to take their order.

* * *

 

It was at her second drink of hard cider that she decided to call it quits. She wasn't a lightweight, but she was worried about having too much alcohol with her medication. The stuff was all local made, and she only tasted two different brews, but they were very delicious. For her two she was sure Henry had four and it didn't seem to faze him that much.

Which she hoped boded well considering he was her ride home.

After filling up on cider, beef sirloin (Vicky) and legs of pork & lamb (Henry), not to mention the cheese, they sat back and begged off dessert.

"Put a fork in me, I'm done," Vicky said as she sank back into her seat.

“Next time we come this way I am going to take you on a nice, long scenic drive. There are ruins of a church and abbey just north of here where we could stop and have lunch."

He said it so casually, but with such confidence, that it made her mentally stumble. "You're assuming I'm going to be inclined to go out with you again," she managed once she recovered.

"I can be very persuasive," Henry replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Hm, sure of yourself aren't you?" She tucked a strand of hair that had gotten loose behind her ear.

He smiled at her and leaned forward across the table. "I am trying to be, but it seems you as if you're blocking my every way."

Henry watched as her cheeks turned a gorgeous red. It was perhaps not the right thing to say as saw her almost visibly withdraw into her shell.

'Fuck,' he thought. He needed to rectify this; it was never his intention to scare her.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "I think the ciders have gone to my brain. Something I should probably walk off. Would you care to join me? If you’re up for it, that is. I know I said we weren’t going to walk..." _But I’d like to spend more time with you outside this crowded inn._

God, he didn't think he'd get used to her looking at him like that; they way her eyes peeked at him from beneath her eyelashes. It wasn't coy and not exactly shy. It was just...her. It made his stomach dip down in excitement at the prospect of having her look at him like that more often.

Vicky took a few moments to reply, finding his gaze just a bit too intense. It wasn't as if he was actually interested her, right? He was just being friendly, probably laying on the charm he needed to use on casting directors and producers. Henry probably couldn't turn it off. While her knowledge of actors was limited to those aspiring movie stars in her old apartment building in West Hollywood, Tom, and those she had met through Tom, she felt it was a shared quality: the need to impress those around them. Millie was wrong. Henry was not attracted to her, a laughable idea at best. Poor fellow was probably looking for a friend who wasn't trying to use him as a step to get what they wanted.

At least that’s what she told herself, ignoring that whisper voice trying to convince her otherwise.

“I could go for a walk,” Vicky replied. “It’d be nice to see this place.”

She also decided that he really needed to stop smiling like that. It did funny things to her pulse.

After Henry settled the bill and Vicky took her medication, they set out. Henry led the way, seeming to know exactly where he was going.

“Take all the girls you knock over out here, do you?” She teased as they walked along The Burgage, her arm looped through his for support. They passed a home called the Sundial Cottage. It had a very cheerful sign on a gate next to the home that read, “DON’T EVEN **THINK** OF PARKING HERE.”

Henry gave her arm a squeeze and laughed. “I’ve driven near here once with some mates but have never actually stopped. I have to admit I may have cheated on this part.”

“This part?” Her eyebrow shot up in great imitation of a friend of hers.

“Yes, I, uh, found the directions for the walk online,” he admitted a bit sheepishly. “Just let me know if your ankle starts to bother you and we’ll turn right around.”

“I’m not worried about my ankle really. I’m more worried about falling asleep.” She snickered as she almost tripped over the uneven pavement. “And keeping my balance as I walk. Really, though, I’m pretty sure alcohol of any kind is not supposed to be mixed with the stuff I’m taking. I get a bit sleepy, and maybe a bit loopy. That could be from the drinks, though.”

The alcohol/medication combination also made her talkative. He was happy to listen to her as she got distracted by the homes they passed, how beautiful they were. Much better looking than just about anything you’d find in L.A., and definitely better than Phoenix, and probably older in both cases. There was just so much green out here, too! Look at those trees, weren’t they just gorgeous? Her mother would be completely jealous right now.

She practically bounced up and down at seeing a row of three cottages with thatched roofs.

“Sorry,” she said as they passed them. “It’s not like this the first time I’ve been to a village like this before. I had a friend take me to Stratford-upon-Avon, but I was practically dragged through there from one stop to the next. We didn’t get a chance to just...walk.” The memory of long legs giddily taking her along paths to show her this or that place connected to Shakespeare. A bright smile and twinkling blue eyes below a head of light curls as he said, “Could you just imagine?” Resolutely she pushed the memory down.

Her hand rested on his forearm, her fingers leaving a trail of warmth as she absentmindedly traced patterns on his skin. It was enough to almost drive him to distraction himself. Did she realize what she was doing? How it made him wonder what it would feel like to have those same fingers in his hair? To have her fingers twined with his so that he could lift their hands anytime he wanted just to kiss the back of her hand?

As he feared, he grew distracted and they stopped at T intersection.

“Which way?” she asked, looking down in each direction.

He looked left and right, trying to remember what the directions had said. “To the left, my lady, past the roundabouts.” They crossed the street heading down Tatchley Lane.

“That is something I just don’t think I’ll ever understand,” Vicky commented.

“What?”

“Roundabouts. You British love your freaking roundabouts.”

He couldn’t say he had ever heard that complaint before. “What is wrong with roundabouts? They’re efficient!”

She shook her head. “No, they’re annoying is what they are. They always remind me of trying to jump into a game of double Dutch.” She paused in her walk as she withdrew her arm from his to demonstrate what she meant. She bounced slightly on her good foot, her arms rocking back and forth. “Do you wait, do you go? And once you’re in, when do you get out, how long do you stay in? They’re confusing. Just put in a four-way stop. Almost everyone is polite here, I am sure - oh gosh! That’s why you have them!”

“Hold on, you may have lost me.”

“The roundabouts,” she laughed. “That’s why you have them! Almost everyone over here is just too damn polite. You’d all be stuck for days, arms waving from your cars as you called to each other, ‘No, you first, I insist!’ Even if you had the right of way.”

He chuckled, “You caught us. We use roundabouts to avoid talking to people. It’s one of our diabolical schemes.”

She laughed at his joke and reclaimed his arm to continue their walk. “Right. Your real diabolical scheme is to lure away the women, and some men, of other countries with all the handsome actors you export, yourself included.” Her free hand immediately flew to her mouth.

Henry would have been lying if he'd said his chest didn’t puff out just a bit at hearing Vicky’s words. “You think I’m handsome.”

What should she do? Ignore him, feign that her ankle is hurting to turn back around, or attempt to play it cool?

“Psh!” She rolled her eyes. “As if you don’t get told that every day. You know you’re handsome, I know you’re handsome; the whole fracking world knows you’re handsome. No need to play modest. It’s a fact of life, my friend.” There. That was cool, right?

He leaned down so his mouth was near her ear, and when he spoke she could have sworn it dropped an octave or two. “Yes, but _you_ think I am handsome. That’s the one that matters.”


	8. Chapter 8

  
Tom groaned and let his head fall back, vexed, before looking back to his phone. He wanted to ask if these plans were with Cavill. At the same time he'd rather believe she was going out with some girlfriends than know for sure she was going to be with Cavill.

It wasn't as if he had anything to worry about. She wasn't ignoring him. Vicky had not set Tom to the side. In fact she had gone with him to Zach's birthday party a few months ago. They went over to Chris and Elsa's just a few weeks ago, where India had charmed them both. And there were all the times they had been together on set, talked on the phone, met for lunch, or gone and seen a movie between all the days he was filming, doing promotion, or on location.

Still, there were all those days, all those weekends, when she spent time with Cavill. Ever since the man had taken her to Prestbury it seemed as if he was always taking Vicky to this or that place. Taking her out to pubs on the weekend with live music or whisking her away in his overpriced car.

'You're being unfair,' he told himself. He knew he made it sound as if she was spending all her free time with Cavill, or himself. This wasn’t true. He knew there were many more days where she stayed late after he left the set, or she was back at her office, and spent her free days catching up on all the sleep she had missed. He knew she was trying to find a decent place to live, instead of the large homes Mildred was trying to pressure her into.

It was just...frustrating, to say the least. He and Vicky were in a much better place than they had been in a long time, but he thought by now they'd be so much further along. There were flashes, glimpses where he could tell she was holding back just a bit, much like a child after getting burned on the stove, she was wary to touch the thing that had burnt her even though it was no longer hot.

"She's pretty," a voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Looks like the girl who works with visual effects.”

Tom's head snapped up from his phone and to the left to find Rene, his onscreen mother, smiling sweetly at him. She was sitting in a chair next to him on set. There was a problem with the lighting for the scene they were shooting. So they waited, in full costume, for things to get fixed. It was this break that allowed him to text Vicky.

He was confused at first, but realized his phone had switched to the lock-screen during his contemplation. Tom had been tapping the home button as he thought, keeping the photo he took of them at the Hemsworths. Tom had his arm around her in the photo; Vicky had her head on his shoulder. She had been giggling at the time, her dark eyes shining with mirth.

"Yes," Tom finally answered, "she's beautiful, and she _is_ a visual effects producer."

Rene gave him a smirk. "What fair Asgardian maiden has unfrozen my Loki's heart?"

He couldn't help but laugh at that, his head tipped back. "Oh, she burrowed her way in long ago," he said in the tone and pitch he adopted for Loki. "She is as fierce as the Lady Sif, and her beauty is only rivaled by that of my fair mother." Tom took Rene's hand and kissed the back of it.

When he released her hand it was Rene's turn to tilt her head back in a hearty laugh.

"Silver-tongue indeed," she said once she recovered. Tom chuckled at her comment. "So she's your girlfriend?"

_I wish._

He shook his head. "No, Vicky is...my best mate, for lack of better term." _She's my Nike._ "I met her at Christmas, just after I started RADA. We’ve been friends ever since.”

The look Rene began to give him he recognized. He had seen it on his own mother’s face numerous times. It was the look a mother gave her child when she knew you were speaking the truth, just not in its entirety.

Thankfully, Tom was saved from any further line of inquiry when it was announced that they should go to their marks.

* * *

 

“You look amazing,” Henry breathed when Vicky opened the door. Of course, he thought she always looked amazing. He just tried not to say “amazing” each time he saw her; otherwise, he’d wear out the word.

"Thanks," she replied, her cheeks starting to pink. "I wasn't sure what to wear. I hope I am not overdressed." She looked him over as she spoke, taking in his blue jumper, dark jeans, and brown boots.

Henry replied in the negative.  "Hardly. You'll be turning everyone's head. They will be wondering why you brought an oaf like me with you." Those were not words just to flatter, either. She looked lovely in a black and white floral skirt that went to her knees, paired with a black blouse and a red belt.

Really, she looked amazing.

Vicky laughed nervously at his compliment, tucking a strand of her slightly curled hair behind her ear. "I know when you go to sporting events like this over here you can't just go in your lounge clothes."

He offered his arm before they made their way to the car that would be driving them this evening. No fast-flying Aston Martin tonight.

"I think even in your lounge clothes you'd still be the on all the best-dressed lists."

Rolling her eyes at him, she slid into her seat when he opened the door. Once he was seated, Vicky gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t believe him. “I don’t think I’ll be making any best-dressed lists, but I’ll accept that I am not dressed horribly. I just hope it doesn’t rain again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.” She looked out the window and up at the clouds, as if she could decipher whether they were going to break open again.

“Not to mention it’s chilly,” Henry added.

She turned to look back at him. “I’m trying to build up a tolerance, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.”

He could almost see her suppressing a shiver. If only he had worn a jacket tonight. He watched as she started to fiddle with her seatbelt. Recognizing this as a sign she was nervous he reached over and took her hand in his. “Are you all right?”

Vicky saw the concern dance across his face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorta. I just...these event things make me jittery. I feel like I’m going to fall on my face no matter what, or say something wrong, or ignorant. I never went to fancy schools, and I’m not as politically educated as I should be. I’m not up on the latest art house movies or things like that.” Then in a soft voice, as if she didn’t wish for him to hear it, she said, “I just don’t want to embarrass myself, or you.”

A reassuring squeeze from his hand calmed her, just a little. “You know this isn’t anything big, right? It’s just an opportunity my publicist thought would be great for me to get my face out. I’m sure there will be a photographer or two, nothing like you’d see at a premiere.”

She sighed and looked out the window before turning back and daring to catch his eyes. “I know, I know. Still doesn’t mean I’m not going to freak out until we get there.”

Henry maneuvered their hands until his fingers entwined with hers. “I’ll be right by you the whole time, just as I am now. Don’t worry.”

* * *

 

She knew no one. Of course, why would she, but none of the people looked familiar from TV or movies. Vicky supposed, for those there that were actors, that she could put it down to the fact that she didn’t recognize them out of costume.

Or she just didn’t know anyone; yes, that was it. She didn't recognize anyone, personally or from their work. And here she was, standing in a corner, holding a flute of Moët that she had only taken one sip of.

All alone at the O2 Arena in the Moët Suite.

Shortly after they had entered the lounge area Henry had gotten a call, very important from the looks he had given her. Not wanting his conversation to be overheard, or be a bother, he had stepped out, promising to be back shortly.

That was a good twenty minutes ago. If he wasn’t back in another five she was going to walk out of this damned arena and go home, curl up with Ramses, and go to sleep. In preparation for leaving she took her glass to the bar and set it down. Her skirt had been chosen for more than its looks. It had been craftily fitted with pockets, decent pockets. She rifled through them to make sure she had brought both money and her Oyster card.

It was as Vicky was looking for her things that Tom spotted her. He actually stumbled in his steps, thinking he was seeing things. No, there she was, a glass of champagne next to her, dark hair falling in soft curls, looking for something in the pockets of her skirt. Skirts had pockets?

It didn’t matter. She had magically shown up and things were just a little better in the world of Tom Hiddleston.

“Vicky!” He greeted her enthusiastically. “Love, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Tom!” She sounded like she had a few months ago, completely surprised to see him, when he first saw her at Millie's house. “What are you doing here? I thought you had an event to go to.”

He laughed and leaned one elbow on the bar. “This is the event I was talking about.”

Her arms were around him in the next moment, curling them up so her fingers gripped the back of his shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she spoke into his chest.

Not one to deny himself the pleasurable things in life, Tom wrapped her up and did not ever want to release her from his embrace. "What's wrong, love?"

It was from only knowing her for a third of his life that he knew she had been scared, that while no tears fell he knew internally she was crying.

"I came here with Henry, and then he stepped out to take a call. That was a while ago, and I even stepped out to look for him, but he wasn't there. Until you showed up I didn't know anyone. I thought, you know, we'd have some drinks, and little treats to eat, and watch the match. I mean, how could I pass up seeing Federer in person, and so close? And I feel so out of my element here, like there is a big sign above me saying 'Not One of Us.' And I just want to go home now, and eat my hidden stash of Flakes, and use Ramses as a little heater as I curl up under my sheets."

As she spoke her voice started to pick up speed, each sentence coming out faster than the last, and he knew she was dangerously close to slipping into her second tongue. If he saw Cavill walk in that moment he'd have a few choice words, and demonstrate a few boxing moves Chris had shown him. Actually, aside from the words he'd share with the other actor, he wouldn't do that. Tom knew that Vicky wouldn't want him to do that.

He needed to calm her down, though, before she started firing off in Spanish. He'd gotten better over the years with the language, but when she was upset she spoke it so fast that he'd be lucky to catch every other word.

Pulling her away from him, just a smidge, and releasing her from his hold, he brought his hands up and cupped them along her jawline. Tom bent his head down and kissed her nose and then her forehead. "Deep breaths, Nike, it’s okay." The endearment slipped out before he could stop it. She made no protest. "Do you still want to watch the match?" Vicky nodded her head. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones. "Then stay. I'd love to keep you company."

"Okay. I'll stay." With those three words he felt some of the tension release from her.

A wide grin spread across his face, his eyes crinkling. "Brilliant." He removed his hands from her face to settle them on her upper arms. "Just brilliant. Now, I have one question for you."

"Which is?" She laughed.

"Do you think you could beat me at a match of table tennis?"

True to his word, Tom kept her company. When more people started to arrive, Tom made sure they knew who Vicky was and just what brilliant work she did and was doing. She blushed as Tom made her out to be the best thing since sliced bread.

It did not entirely surprise her, then, to find herself one moment playing ping pong and the next court side, sitting next to Hannah, Eddie Redmayne’s girlfriend, chatting away just before the match between Federer and Djokovic started.

"You look a bit overwhelmed," Hannah said so only Vicky could hear.

Vicky laughed, "You should have seen me earlier."

"First one of these?" Hannah asked, meaning the gathering of celebrities.

"Yes and no. I just haven't been to a thing like this in a while, and my other friend I came with kind of left me alone. Until Tom came along." Vicky looked over at Eddie. He was looking at something on Cat Deeley's camera, who sat next to him on his other side. "Have you...been to a lot of these?"

"Yes and no," Hannah replied with a smile. "I'm a publicist. Usually I'm the one standing in the background, or arranging for someone to go to parties like this. It's been a bit different being on the other side."

Vicky relaxed even further, glad to know she wasn't the only one in their little group that wasn't used to being on the front line, so to speak.

They chatted quietly some more, pausing when Federer and Djokovic started the match. Hannah even slipped Vicky a business card, "just in case," with a wink that both women giggled over.

It was during one of the breaks Vicky heard someone calling her name, to her right. Looking over she saw Henry on the other side of Tom. If she and Tom hadn't unintentionally switched seats she'd be sitting next to him.

"Vicky," Henry called softly, again. She nodded her head to let him know she heard him. "I am so sorry. The conversation got away from me, farther than I like."

"It's fine," she replied. It must have been written all over her face that it was a lie. Henry raised an eyebrow in disbelief, while Tom, unable to avoid the conversation that was being had over him, looked at her as if he wanted to laugh. Not really wanting to discuss it further, she turned her attention back to the game. She took small joy knowing Henry would have to sit there watching a sport he wasn't overly fond of.

Unsure as to why, Tom at one point leaned over to Henry. "She is not exactly happy to see you at the moment."

"Yeah, I didn't think she liked the cut of my jib," Henry confessed.

"You'd rank right down there with Richard the Third in her book, I'd say."

"Thanks," Henry nearly snapped back.

Tom held up a hand in peace, and not entirely sure why, he gave Cavill a piece of advice. He did feel the smallest iota sorry for the guy. From experience he knew it was not the most pleasant to suffer Vicky's wrath. So he'd throw the man a bone. "All I mean is that it is not pleasant to be cast from a goddess's eye. I'd apologize if I were you."

Not understanding Hiddleston's reference exactly, he nodded his thanks and turned his attention back to the game. He knew he needed to apologize. As if he wasn't going to. Henry felt as if he'd been making great progress with Vicky. He knew he had to take things slow with her. After breaking off her engagement with her fiancé she was worried about having a rebound relationship. He was cautious of the same, being in a similar situation. He didn't want to be her rebound, nor did he want her to be his.

Djokovic won. First time that Federer blah, blah, blah. As soon as the game was over, Vicky's mind was on the man two seats to her right. She had no idea what to say to him. Part of her wanted to rip him a new one for leaving her alone, part of her wanted to forgive him, especially when he kept looking at her with those damnable blue eyes.

Curse her weakness for blue eyes.

And curly hair.

And tall, British men.

(She swore she didn't have a type. Nope, not at all.)

As the others in their group went back up to the lounge, to carry on with the partying, Henry and Vicky hung back. Tom asked her if she wanted him to stay. She told him no, but she had a feeling he wouldn't be too far off.

"I am so sorry," Henry started right away. "It was regarding a contract, and I was trying to negotiate..."

To be fair she let him talk. Let him try to explain why he was gone for so long. It was an inopportune time for him to take a phone call. Really, it wasn't his fault that this important call came when it did.

When he was done with his lengthy explanation she nodded her head, and crossed her arms.

"That's all fine and dandy, _cabrón_ ," Vicky began. "Do you remember the car ride over here?"

"Yes," he replied, his hand flexing in memory of their hands entwined.

"Do you remember how I was a little nervous, how you said you wouldn't leave me alone?"

He spluttered, "Like I said-"

"I know what you said, but did it ever cross your mind to put your call on hold and, say, oh, I don't know, tell me it was going take a while?" She recrossed her arms, not in anger, but insecurity. He could see her clearly putting up her wall, brick by brick. A wall he had worked so hard to bring down. "If it was that important, I would have liked to have known you were going to take a while. We could have left, or I could have gone down to one of the restaurants here, and hung out there until the match started. Just about anything would have been better than leaving me in a room full of people I don't know."

"You didn't seem to want for company, from what I could tell," he replied defensively.

Now her crossed arms took on a look of displeasure. "That's because Tom showed up and convinced me to stay! I was going to leave, go home, and forget this whole night! I didn't know he was going to be here, but I am damn sure glad he showed up."

He crossed his arms, his dark brows furrowing together. Of course things got better because Hiddleston showed up. He wondered what would have happened if had not taken that call. Would she have ditched him, regardless, for that skinny git? "What do you want me to do? I said I was sorry, I can't exactly go back and make sure that I was there holding your hand like a child."

He swore he saw fire flash in her eyes.

"I am gonna to tell you what is going to happen, _pendejo_." She watched as his angry demeanor dropped in exchange for a worried one. "I am going to join Tom and Hannah and Eddie and whomever else, up in that lounge. I'm going to drink ridiculously expensive champagne, probably play a little ping pong, try to forget this conversation and have a good time." No, she was not getting teary eyed, not because of Henry, she wasn't going to allow it. "You are more than welcome to come up as well, but know for the rest of the night I'll be giving you the cold shoulder. I like you, Henry, you've been a great friend, but I'm gonna need to be angry with you. I am not going to want to talk to you for a good twenty-four hours. So stay or go, but know I am not going to be that receptive to your face tonight."

Uncrossing his arms he nodded, "That...that's fair, and honest. I am sorry for leaving you, for hurting you." He stepped forward tentatively. "I'll go home."

Vicky looked down and away from him. "Yeah, okay."

Henry placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Be safe, call me, for anything. I am so unbelievably sorry."

She nodded her head, still not looking at him. Without another word he left.

It was only another moment or two before Tom came and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Vicky said with a small sigh. She didn't like being upset with Henry. It irked her, but it irked her more that he didn't see why she was upset, or rather why it mattered to her that he'd left her alone.

Looking up at Tom, she smiled. "Can I just say something?"

"Anything, love," he replied, grinning.

"I am totally digging this sweater; I like it."

Tom chuckled. "You like it now; wait until you see this." He withdrew his arm from around her and fiddled with his sleeves. When he was done he held his hands up, wiggling his fingers, to reveal what appeared to be fingerless gloves on them.

"Are those attached, part of the sweater?" Vicky asked, her smile growing.

"Yes!"

"Those are amazing. Now I'm jealous."

"I thought you'd like them. Now, let's have a rematch at table tennis. I am sure that you'd like to at least win one game."

Again Tom wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her back up to the suite.


	9. Chapter 9

She had fun in the VIP lounge. While Vicky probably would have preferred to hide behind Tom, everyone she met was cordial. A woman in a white fur-like coat joined them as they sat and munched on the desserts and fruit set out for the guests.

"That is a lovely skirt, and nice touch with the belt," the woman in the shaggy white coat told her.

Vicky looked down out at her outfit out of habit, to make sure she wasn't being mocked. Nothing was wrong. "Oh, thank you."

"American! I didn't know." She looked at Tom, who sat to the left of Vicky. "You didn't tell me, Tom."

Vicky looked at Tom, confused, and he gave a small smile. "Sorry. Vicky, this is Amanda, my sometimes stylist. Amanda, this is Vicky."

The women reached across the small set-up that separated them and shook hands.

"Do I have you to thank for making sure he leaves the house fairly decent?" Vicky teased.

Amanda laughed, "I may have had a little something to do with it."

"Hey!" Tom said with mock indignation. "I can dress myself perfectly well...especially since I learned how." The group laughed.

Pictures were taken, food (oh god, lots of food) was consumed. Vicky and Hannah talked more, with Hannah asking exactly what Vicky's job entailed in the VFX industry. They discussed her early days as a runner, all the way to what she was doing now, being made a VFX producer on _Thor: The Dark World_.

"That's what Tom is filming now, isn't it?" Eddie asked, joining the conversation.

Vicky laughed, "Yes. It's exciting seeing what we get to do, what we get to figure out, how to make things work and look believable for such a fantastic film. I feel a little in over my head, right now. I mean, I have been on set just as much as the actors do. Overseeing effect screens and making sure costumes don't clash with them. Its stuff I helped with before, but never had so much riding on what I did. It is amazing, though, to know that I can be helping tell a story to its full potential." Despite how long she had been in her industry it still amazed her how far things had come from painted film by a Frenchman to creating whole worlds that people could swear were real. She couldn't help the smile that came across her face as she talked about her work.

With Cat and Amanda joining the conversation Tom was virtually forgotten. He couldn't have been happier about it. The joy on his face nearly matched that on Vicky's. People coming to realize what he already knew, that she was extraordinary and talented, kind and funny, would always be one of his favorite things.

She didn't always give herself enough credit, and in the past he perhaps hadn't given her enough either, but he was going to change that. He wanted the world to see what he saw, and to have Vicky see it, too.

As they continued to talk, the conversation evolved on from her work to which movies she particularly admired for their visual effects accomplishments. Tom shifted on his seat, his hand settling next to Vicky as he did so. Her attention never wavered from the discussion, but her pinky finger reached out and wrapped around his.

It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to him.

* * *

 

Tuesday meant she had to be at Double Negative for a planning meeting before taking the A40 out to Shepperton Studios.

When the meeting was over she popped over to her office to grab a few things. When she did so, there was a very large vase filled with the brightest bunch of red tulips she had ever seen.

Tentatively she approached the floral arrangement and plucked the white card that sat in the middle of them.

 

> _I am sorry, Vicky. Please call me._
> 
> _\- Henry_

"Oh, looks like someone is trying to grovel," Vicky's assistant, Gemma, said as she walked in.

Vicky jumped and hastily hid the card in her bag.

Gemma continued, "Or they're thanking you for one hell of a night." She seemed not to notice her boss hiding the card, or if she did she didn’t pay any mind to it.

"No, no, nothing like that," Vicky quickly corrected, but didn't clarify.

It had seemed weird at first to have an official assistant, but Gemma was great. She actually had a work background very similar to Vicky's, so that helped when asked if she could check on or do something. Gemma was also a great help in reminding her which soundstage they had to be on, or what meetings she had, even which studio execs she had be nice to so she could get her way on certain things.

"They are lovely," Gemma said as she smelled the flowers. "I didn't know you could find tulips so late in the season."

"They are my favorite so...you know what, never mind." Vicky grabbed what she had come in for. "We need to get going, but could you see that these get sent to my house, please, Gemma?"

Gemma smiled, "Absolutely."

"Good, let's get going."

When they arrived on set and headed towards craft services, because Vicky was a sucker for free food, a loud voice called out.

"And here she is, finally gracing us with her presence!" Zach grinned as he approached her, decked out in his Fandral costume. "You know, you missed an outstanding George Michael impersonation this morning."

Coming from behind him was Jaimie, looking fierce as the Lady Sif. "Trust me, you didn't."

"Hey!" Zach protested, but he laughed as she passed him.

"I'm sure it was great," Gemma smiled at him.

"Thank you, Gemma," he replied with a wide smile.

Jaimie and Vicky couldn't help but share a look and roll their eyes. Gemma and Zach had been flirting for weeks. They just kept dancing around each other.

Leaving Zach and Gemma to their own devices, Jaimie turned to the layout of food. Vicky followed suit, grabbing a plate and going straight for the pastries and sweets.

"You've got good timing," Jaimie said as she piled food onto her plate.

"Oh yeah?" Vicky asked, unable to resist taking a small bite out of a Danish.

"Tom should be joining us soon. He was just wrapping something up with Chris and Natalie." The look Jaimie gave her led her to believe this should be getting her excited.

She swallowed her bite before speaking. "Oh, good. Hopefully that means I can check on something before you guys get going again."

Jaimie shook her head and replied with her Asgardian accent. "You're as dense as Thor."

"Hey!" Vicky protested.

"You dare compare her to such an oaf as Thor?" Tom came up behind Vicky, looking like the God of Mischief.

Which, of course, he was.

"I'll have you know I am smarter than I look," Chris mockingly grumbled as he stopped next to Tom.

"Play nice, boys," Natalie warned as she passed them.

In high school Vicky was never remotely close to be being associated with the cool kid’s group. She had never even sat on the same side of cafeteria as they did during lunch. If fact, weather permitting, she didn't sit inside the cafeteria at all.

Being on set during meal breaks was the complete opposite. On her first full day Chris had sought her out straight off the bat. He had greeted her with a big hug and helped her get reacquainted with his co-stars she had met during the first _Thor_ , as well as new ones. The Aussie made her feel as if he was the big brother she never had and made sure that she sat with him when they ate.

And so it was, if she was on set at the studio or on location in Greenwich or Ireland, it seemed she had somehow miraculously earned a spot at the "cool table." The names attached to the phone numbers that were on her contact list now was mind boggling to her; add in the fact that these people had actually contacted her outside of work on at least one occasion each, and it was unreal. Then there were times such as now, where she had Tom on one side, Natalie on another (and Vicky desperately had to suppress her inner fangirl at that), Chris sat next to Tom while Zach, Jaimie and Gemma sat across from them.

Who would have thought that the nerdy girl from ten years ago would be sitting among such amazing and talented people as this?

"You all right?" Tom asked Vicky quietly when the others were distracted. His lips nearly brushed the shell of her ear and he could see goose pimples rise on the skin of her neck. He made sure to pull just far enough back so he could look her in the eyes.

She smiled up at him. "Yeah, I'm good. Better, anyway." Vicky took his hand that he had on the table and drew it underneath, out of view. It was done with little thought. When she started to use his thumbnail as a worry stone it brought back memories of sitting on sofas, head on her lap, her playing with his hair, of warm beds where he'd curl around her and of wandering, aimless walks with their hands entwined.

Just as quickly as the memories came they stopped.

Abruptly she let go of his hand and brought hers up to adjust her ponytail. She'd been favoring up-dos lately, but nothing was wrong with her hair. He knew it was just an excuse.

Tom tried to ignore the sting. It would have felt more pleasant if she had slapped him instead.

When it was late, and they were done for the day, after Tom had had his wig and costume taken off, and showered, he offered to take her to Aunt Mildred’s in the car the studio shuttled him around in during filming.

“Tomorrow’s a night shoot,” Vicky said unceremoniously when they left the studio.

Tom nodded, “Yes, will you be there tomorrow?”

“Yup, heavy effect screening tomorrow. Have to make sure the right reference points and stuff are in frame.” She paused and played with her phone. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Anything, love,” he said without hesitancy.

Putting her phone away she looked up at him, a small smile on her lips. “I hate to ask you, since I’m sure you need your rest, but I was hoping you’d join me in the morning to go looking at some condos or flats or whatever the hell you call them over here. I just like having a local with me to ensure that I’m not getting gypped or something.”

For a moment, just a moment, he wanted to be petty and ask if she had gone with Cavill previously. If he was her second choice now. He didn’t. Tom liked to think that it was because his aunt wasn’t able to go with her.

“Definitely, I would be more than happy to.” He sat there, drinking up the smile she bestowed upon him. “Now, come over here and lean your head. Try to catch a few winks before we get home.” Tom held out one of his arms so that she could sidle up to him.

Vicky opened her mouth and then shook her head. “If I wasn’t tired I’d argue with you.” Without further comment she scooted across the seat and curled up to Tom’s side. It didn’t take her long to drift asleep.

He rested his head against the back of the seat and smiled. “Ned, I have to commend you on your driving abilities.”

Ned, the driver, chuckled. “Uh, thank you, sir.”

“No, I mean it, bloody brilliant they are,” Tom chortled. It was true; otherwise, Vicky wouldn’t have fallen asleep.

* * *

 

A large thermos, the kind you’d take with you camping, filled with to the brim with coffee just the way she liked it, was the way Tom greeted her. With the sky overcast and the weather man saying that the high for the day was going to be 15°C, she was going to need it. It did not annoy her at all that Tom seemed to thrive in that temperature, that he seemed as if he was perfectly fine with it. Nope, not at all. Of course with the way her house hunting was going that morning she was kind of wishing that her morning beverage had something other than sugar and creamer.

Vicky’s goal for the day was to see the homes as quickly as possible before running home and trying to catch some zzz’s so she’d have energy for the night shoot. Two house viewings in she was wondering if there were any “good” neighborhoods in London. They had seen a flat in Camden Town. This was fine except for the sloping ceiling in the bathroom that barely allowed her to stand up straight, let alone anyone else. Another, which Vicky got really excited over, was an Arts & Crafts style home. She had always admired the style of home she often saw back in California, and was excited to see one in London.

Except London’s Arts & Crafts style was not “her version” of the Arts & Crafts movement. As the realtor _kindly_ informed her, she was thinking of the American Craftsman style.

Despite the home being of the Arts & Crafts movement, regardless of which one, it had very few defining features left from when it was originally built. Plus there was the fact that the wood floors in certain places seemed to be rotting, as Tom’s foot going through one of the steps on the stairs indicated. A fixer-upper was not what she was looking for.

“There is one more place,” the realtor said as they left the second home. “It’s been listed for some time and is at a reduced price. It has a garden in the back that needs some work, but I think you’ll like it.”

“I think you’ll like it” had been the man’s mantra for the day. So far he had proved to be a fibber. Vicky and Tom exchanged a look that said as much.

When they pulled up to a semi-attached home she just knew something had to be wrong with the place. The front yard was small, but well kept, and the windows were framed in black, and the big front windows did this neat, wrapping, curve thing around a corner towards the front door.

"Oh, this is gorgeous," she breathed as she walked up the brick path to the door.

"Yes," the realtor said as he opened the door, "it's on the corner so you would only have a neighbor on one side. There is a side access gate that leads to the back garden from the street."

Vicky was going to ask a clarification question, but it died before it could reach her tongue as she walked into the house. Little was left in the home, but from the front door she could spy the kitchen where a table set remained. There were wood floors, in great condition, throughout. A fireplace was on the shared wall with built-in shelves on either side. The stairs, right by the front door, were also wood and she couldn't wait to look up there.

Immediately she went to the fireplace. "Is this real? Can it be used?" When she had looked at places previously there had been a few fireplaces, but they had all been decorative.

"Yes, fully functional." The agent walked to the shelves on the left of the fireplace. "The shelves are all built-in, and the windows," he opened one to demonstrate how it worked, "are all new, but still function as they originally did when the home was built."

Tom opened a door under the stairs. "You've got storage here," he poked his head in. "Or a torture chamber, if you're into that sort of thing."

The agent gave an uncomfortable cough, while Vicky gave him an unamused look. Tom answered with a cheeky grin.

"The home is a freehold," the man carried on as if Tom hadn't said anything. "Its move-in ready, reduced price and many of the amenities have been updated recently."

Vicky wandered into the kitchen and squealed at the sight of the black cupboards and countertops. The realtor gave Tom a look.

"She must have found something she likes," Tom grinned and gave a little laugh.

"Yes," the man replied slowly. He eyed the kitchen again when Vicky let out another exclamation over something else.

Tom continued to grin. "What is the parking like?" He knew Vicky would never drive in London, but she'd want to make sure others had a place to park.

"For residents there is one assigned parking permit per household." He stopped again as Vicky audibly fawned over the Art Deco French doors that led to the back garden. "Is she coming back?"

"No, probably not."

"Tom!" She called for him.

"Coming, oh light of my life!" He cheerily replied. Both men could practically hear her rolling her eyes from across the house.

When he found her, which wasn't hard, Vicky was admiring the lead design that curved in the glass in the French doors and the windows on either side of them. "You summoned me?" With a flourish he bowed before her.

"Come outside," she said as she grabbed his arm and dragged him.

The garden in the back was of a decent size, all decked, with just a few creeper plants to worry about as they made their way over the fence. If there was work to be done, it was very minimal.

"Isn’t this fantastic?" Vicky asked as she walked around the deck. "I can get a few pots, smuggle some jalapeño seeds in, maybe some good tomato seeds too, and then make some decent salsa." She walked a few paces to stand in the middle, a big grin on her face. "I could get some chairs and one of those metal firepits. We could sit out here and get cozy around a fire, looking at the few stars that get through." Her hand reached up, fingers tickling the sky as she imagined the little pinpricks of light.

He put his hands in his pockets as he watched her flit about. "You like the place, I take it?"

With a spin she turned around to face him. "I've seen at least a dozen places. I know it's going to cost a boatload of cash but I want this place _so bad_."

"You haven't even seen upstairs," he pointed out.

Vicky shrugged, "I don't care. I'll look, but as long as there is a bedroom and a working bathroom without a sloping ceiling, no holes in the floor or some other major disaster, I am getting this place."

And that was how Vicky got a fabulous home in Belsize Park for the ridiculous price of £400,000. As per her, modified, agreement with Aunt Millie, she allowed her pseudo relative to pay for half.

Knowing the area as Tom did, he knew that was a steal, almost literally. It didn't sit right with Tom, there was something else going afoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things, I know movies shot in the UK don't have craft services. I totally forgot about that writing this chapter, but lets pretend that for this one movie they did, okay?
> 
> For those curious [this is basically the place](http://www.zoopla.co.uk/property-history/93-parkhill-road/london/nw3-2xy/17132553) Vicky and Tom found. I've taken creative licence on few things, and will again in the future, but this is what I am picturing when I write.


	10. Chapter 10

After the papers were signed and agreements made the two went to Tom’s place in Primrose Hill.

"I don’t care how long the place had been sitting there empty, it should have gone for at least twice as much," Tom argued as they entered his home. She hadn’t really put too much thought into how close she’d actually be to Tom. It would be about a fifteen minute walk to his home from where she was going to live.

Vicky wasn’t sure if that was positive or negative just yet.

"Are you saying there is some nefarious scheme?" She wiggled her fingers at him like a bad magician in an old cartoon. "That maybe it’s a secret nuclear waste dumping site? Perhaps it’s haunted by a hundred ghosts that were murdered there by the great-grandson of Jack the Ripper. OooOoooh!" The finger wagging stopped. "Actually, if that last one is true I will move out."

"That’s not what I meant, exactly."

"Look I got it for a great price. It has more than what I was asking for with three bedrooms, one would have been fine, but it has a back garden. I can get a barbecue now and grill hamburgers when I miss home and call crisps ‘chips’ and chips ‘fries’ and annoy my neighbors with loud country music. It also has a wonderfully sized fridge." Her smile grew as she spoke, the excitement in her eyes shined. Vicky still had to wait to hear back if she got the house officially, but she was fairly confident that she would. "And I only have to share a wall with one neighbor."

He took her coat and hung it next to the front door, next to his. “Love, that is all well and good, but I feel as if something is being hidden, as if there is some major flaw in this shining diamond that we haven’t seen yet.”

”’We haven’t seen yet,’” she repeated as she paused in kicking off her boots. “Funny I thought this was a house I was buying and you know, generally going to live in.”

He repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course, I only meant ‘we’ as in the two who took the tour.” It almost felt as if she was trying to pick a fight between them.

Vicky felt as if he was trying to rain on her parade. “Look, just accept I got a place, a place I actually like, in a decent area for a decent price.” She finished taking off her boots and walked the short hallway to his kitchen. Once there she stopped and placed a hand on her hip, unsure why she went there.

He followed her. “I am truly happy that you found the house. I am.” Once in the kitchen he went to a cupboard and pulled down two glasses. Tom was on auto-pilot as he talked, getting water for them. “You getting your own place just makes things feel a little more permanent, that you aren’t going anywhere. You know I don’t say this word often, but it’s a really cool place.”

Hand still on her hip she looked at at him, or rather a spot on his chin. “So you’re doing a really good impression of an oxymoron then, the Most Supportive-Unsupportive Friend?”

If they kept on like this they’d be in a knock down, drag out fight soon. He studied her for a moment before he handed her the glass of water. It felt as if she was trying to goad him, make him angry. Even though her hand was on her hip, not usually a fighting stance for her, the way her brows came together and her eyes narrowed said otherwise.

"Tell me what’s wrong," Tom asked as he set his glass down.

She took a sip from her glass before setting down next to his. There was still fight in her eyes, a flickering flame waiting to burst into a blaze, as they met his. There was also fear in them, as if she couldn’t decide on whether to light everything on fire and run, or to douse the flames and show him what she was trying to hide.

"All I want is for you to be happy," Tom finally said. "If the house makes you happy, that’s all I want. I also want to make sure that there isn’t a secret colony of termites cohabiting with you or poisonous paint coating the walls. I want you to be happy and safe."

Whatever wall she was hiding behind since he first saw her a few months ago must have broken just a little as the fire was doused when her eyes grew moist. Taking the initiative he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin. Always so close, and so very far. When he felt her arms come around him he let out a little sigh and kissed the top of her head.

After several moments Tom finally spoke. “You have a wonderful Latin temper, but sometimes that German hard head rises. When the two work together it can be rather intimidating.”

Her body rocked with laughter, her arms tightening around him slightly. “I’m just scared,” she admitted.

Tom kissed her hair again. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

He was sorry. There was no illusion before him that could hide the fact that he was the cause of her fear, and rightly so. She had been burned by him, severely, and was wary to step so close as to repeat the injury.

Tom was doing everything he could to show her that it would never happen again.

* * *

 

Vicky had decided to stay at Tom’s. He had to be on set a bit earlier than she did, but they decided it would be better if they carpooled together to the studio.

Tom had offered to put a movie on in his room that they could watch together. Something they could fall asleep to. She declined and decided to take a nap in his spare bedroom.

Except after laying down for five minutes her phone started to ring. She groaned, fearing it was Gemma calling to say she had to be there earlier.

"Hello?" She answered.

"I was wondering if you were going to answer."

It wasn’t Gemma.

"Henry," she replied and looked at her phone screen to make sure. It was.

"Ah, so she does remember who I am," he teased. She knew he was all smiles on the other line.

Unsure how to reply she opted to laugh nervously. She had been planning to call him, honestly, but with all the excitement from earlier and the scheduled night shoot her call to him kept getting put off.

"Are you still upset with me?" he asked after a pause.

"Do you understand why I got pissed off in the first place?"

Vicky could hear the swallow that Henry took before he answered. “Yes. I thought that the few times I’ve had to step away while you were out, you seemed alright with it.” He sighed in frustration at his actions. She imagined him running his hand through his dark curls. “I realize how wrong that was, how very wrong that was.”

"Yup," was her quick reply.

"I will not do it again. Please, forgive me."

The urge to reject his apology was there. He didn’t quite fully grasp why it had made her so upset. However, this was his first major offense. Perhaps he could get off easy.

This once.

"Did you get the flowers I sent?" He asked when she didn’t reply.

"Yeah," Vicky answered with a small smile as she looked up at the ceiling. "I did. They are beautiful. How did you know I’d be at Double Neg yesterday?"

"You told me, remember, when we had dinner the other day. You said you actually had to wear office attire when you went into work."

And that was all she had said. It had been more of an aside to herself, mumbled under her breath. She couldn’t believe he had caught that.

_Ten points for you, Mr. Cavill, for deciphering my gibberish._

"Thank you for them, by the way. I was still mad at you yesterday, but they were very nice."

Relief was in his chuckle. “I’m assuming there is a break, or they’re not shooting right now, if you’re answering your mobile.”

Vicky shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her. “They might be. I don’t know. I am on set later for night shoots.”

"Oh, did you go out today to look at flats?"

Excited, she sat up and smiled. “Yes! And I found a house, like a proper house. I mean, it shares a wall but I have a little garden in the front and a backyard and it’s freaking perfect. Got it for a steal too! I’ll have to show you pictures before you see it. I have at least a hundred!”

He was disappointed to hear that she had gone without him. She had been seeing places with him, her friends Amy and John, and her aunt alternately. Henry wanted to ask who she went with, he wanted to know if, after he essentially blew her off yesterday, she had gone with Hiddleston.

Henry silently prayed it wasn’t so.

"When we see each other next you’ll have to show me."

Vicky agreed with a laugh. “Oh, and I’m going to ask you now, but will you help me move in? It won’t be for a few weeks, I’m sure, but I thought I’d ask now.”

"Yes, of course."

As soon as they ended their conversation Henry called a friend. He didn’t want his brothers to potentially scare her off, but he knew he’d need a wingman since that bloody pillock was no doubt going to be around.

The man for the job was Luke Evans, former co-star and someone who’d have his back. He had to make the call now, hoping his friend could clear his schedule, if need be.

"Luke, I am going to need your help," Henry said after they greeted each other.


	11. Chapter 11

Years from now this would probably be something Vicky would laugh over. Oh, who was she kidding? She was laughing now. There was so much to laugh over.

Once word had gotten out to family, friends and colleagues that she had purchased a place, there was no lack of volunteers to help her move in. This was something she usually had to beg people to help her with, or were just not available at the time.

Tom had technically volunteered his services first; Henry had been the first she asked. What followed was something out of a movie. This was only right considering the people who showed up.

Okay, maybe at the pestering of Emma she _may_ have asked Tom and Henry to ask a few of their friends. She just didn't think that it would work out quite like this.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" Amy asked as she rested her head on her best friend's shoulder has watched another car pulled up. "I won't have to lift a thing."

"You're pregnant and about to pop!" Vicky laughed. "You weren't going to lift anything!"

Army just smiled and rubbed her belly. "Yes but its guaranteed now. Also, all the pretty men."

There was an abundance of pretty. Lots and lots pretty men. Vicky had thought Chris might show up if he wasn't filming today, which he was likely to be doing since he was the star of the film and all. However, Chris arrived with Elsa and their daughter. Zac pulled up right after them. Natalie had phoned to say she was stopping by before she had to be on set. (How it was they all got off this part of the day was never fully explained to Vicky. There were a lot of knowing glances between the cast members, though.) Henry had gone with Luke Evans - she had a private fangirl moment because, hello, the man was Zeus _and_ Apollo - to get the furniture she had been stockpiling since her promotion. She and Tom had brought over the "softer things" earlier, such as her clothes, and breakables that she had had at Millie's.

Not to mention Emma, Amy and John, and Tom's assistant, Oliver, were there, too. Ollie seemed to be in assistant mode, or perhaps that's just how he was, and was getting people's drink orders.

They stopped their giggling as he approached, his eyes crinkling at the sides as he smiled.  "Miss, what could I get you?"

"The biggest thing of hot chocolate they have," Amy grinned, her hand still on her prominent stomach. She took her chin off Vicky’s shoulder and stood up.

"Could I get-" Vicky started, but Ollie stopped her.

"I’ve got what you'd like right here: the sweetest coffee concoction they have and double the syrups in it."

"Uh, yeah. Pretty much." She nodded in approval.

Amy gave her a look as Ollie left. "How often do you make that poor boy get you coffee?"

"Never. It’s the first time."

Before Amy could say anything more, Emma joined them where they were observing things, just outside the front garden gate.

"I wish it was warmer," Emma moaned as she clutched her anorak tighter around her.

Amy shook her head and Vicky rolled her eyes. There was no sympathy from the two desert-raised women. "And when it’s summer you'll be wishing it was cooler."

"Yes, but at least if you were moving during the summer there would be a chance of a shirtless Superman-"

"-or Thor or a Greek god-" Amy helpfully added.

"-to make me forget," Emma smiled, thinking of the possibilities.

Vicky’s Cheshire grin appeared. "Yeah, Emma, just think of it. His back is to you, you watch as he picks up a box, no shirt to cover his sinful upper body. It’s heavy enough that it causes the muscles in his back to ripple under his tanned, slightly damp skin. His triceps flex, and his deliciously long fingers curl around the box." Both Amy and Emma had far-off looks in their eyes as they mentally pictured the man. "You just want to feel those hands on you, how strong they really are." They both sighed. "He turns around...and it’s Tom."

"Oh god, woman, no!" Amy cried out as Vicky cackled.

Emma groaned loudly and covered her eyes. "Ow, my brain. It’s scarred; never shall it recover." At which her friend only laughed louder. "Never shall my brain be able to erase what you have done to me."

Amy made a retching noise. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Puh-leez. If anyone was going to be sick it'd be Emma; I just scarred her for life with a mental image of her half-naked brother. He's not that bad, Ames."

"I told you once; I'll tell you again. He's a skinny little shit and not my type."

Once more Vicky rolled her eyes, leaving her friends to recover.

Natalie arrived, and laughed when she was told of Vicky’s prank. Elsa was the next to hear the tale until it finally reached Tom.

"You're a sadistic woman, Victoria Diaz!" He shouted out a window. There was then a loud crash.

"What are you doing in there?" She asked as she started to go inside. Tom, Chris and John had kicked her out earlier under the pretense of a surprise.  "What are you breaking? It's not like I have much in there."

"Elsa!" Chris cried, as Zac started to laugh from within the house.

The small blonde woman blocked her path as she approached the front door, managing to look intimidating as she held her baby. " _You stay here; don't go in_."

Vicky put her hands on her hips. " _It’s going to be hard when we start moving things in. What are you going to do about it, friend?_ "

"Okay, they're speed-talking in Spanish again," Emma declared. "Who wants to translate?"

"Speak French," Amy requested, a little smile one her lips as she spoke Spanish herself.

Elsa and Vicky weren't aware they had done so. It was a problem for those around them that weren't fluent in the language when they got together. It was just natural to slip right into it when they spoke to each other.

Tom poked his head out the door. "It is a surprise. You just have to wait, love." He was grinning from ear to ear. He spotted the new arrival. "Hello, Natalie!"

"Hi, Tom," she replied with a grin of her own. “Destroying her house before she even moves in?”

“Would you expect anything less from the God of Mischief?” He briefly adopted his Loki grin. “Besides, it wasn’t me; it was my oaf of a brother.”

“He heard that!” Zac shouted out a window from upstairs.

The neighbors, who had curiously been peeking out their windows, clucked their tongues at the scene. _Americans._

It wasn't long after that Henry and Luke showed up with her things. All the men insisted that they'd unload everything. Frankly, the girls were more than happy to sit back and watch, especially when Ollie came back with their hot beverages.

"Don't break anything," Vicky warned them as they started to unload her things. "Or I'll be forced to slit you from navel to nose."

"Yes, _Comtesse_ ," Henry replied with a cheeky grin.

Tom had to turn his head away from them and roll his eyes. Of course Vicky would have watched her favorite movie, _Ever After_ , with Cavill. It was only natural; then, the man would try and reference it. If he was going to do that, he should do it right.

At least the man hadn't butchered _The Princess Bride_ , her other favorite movie.

It was the start of something rather annoying for Tom, where they seemed to have their own inside jokes. Jokes that he in which he wasn't involved. It was almost unprecedented. When had he not known what a silly little phrase meant? Known the story behind it, even if he wasn't there to experience it in all its glory. The two of them were referencing "dying duck" noises and Skyrim. What the hell was Skyrim? A pub, a disco? A sex move?

God, he hoped not.

If it was, he hoped it was one that failed so horribly it resulted in them _not_ having sex.

While Tom was trying to decipher Vicky and Henry's verbal cryptography, Luke was trying to find helpful information for his friend.

What better place to start than the girl's best friend? From what he understood it was the pregnant woman giving helpful and humorous not-so-helpful, instructions.

He approached her, and Elsa who was holding her child, with two cups of water for them. "Ladies," he greeted them with a charming smile, handing them the water.

Amy happily took the cup and took a sip. It was hard work telling people what to do. "Thank you," she replied with a smile in return.

"My pleasure. You'll have to excuse me, though, I know we were already introduced, but I wanted to make sure that I remembered your name. It’s Amy, correct?"

"On the nose."

"And you're doing well, Elsa?"

Elsa nodded, "Yes, very well. I am so sorry. I have to go take care of India." She politely excused herself.

Luke got whiff of something unpleasant. It was enough to convince him.

"Are you looking forward to changing nappies?" He asked Amy as Elsa left.

The dark, tightly wound curls on her head bounced as she nodded. "God, yes. I am ready for this occupant to vacate the premises,” she joked. “Please proceed to the nearest exit in a calm and orderly fashion.”

Luke laughed with her. “Forgive me if I am wrong, but since you are American as well, is that where you know Vicky from? I don’t mean to be rude, but I am just trying to understand all the connections here.” He gestured to Ollie, he thought, and Zac as they walked by them with a bench.

Amy laughed again. “I know what you mean. It’s a little odd, and I am surprised there isn’t a group of people across the street taking pictures. I swear it looks like there is an independent film being made here or something.”

That was true enough. Not often that you found this many actors of a certain status gathered in one place, unless there was an award being handed out.

“So I’ll give you the rundown. You know Vicky, right?” Amy asked. Luke nodded in confirmation. He, Henry and Vicky had had lunch a few times already, and had gone out for drinks at least once. “Okay, so she is like a third cousin once removed to Tom and Emma.”

“Wait, they’re cousins?” Luke asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, it’s like her dad and their mom are related, I forget how, but they are,” Amy said, using her hand to demonstrate by twisting and turning it. “Just try to keep up for the Six Degrees of Vicky. Um, yeah, Vicky, Tom and Emma are cousins. Tom is currently filming with Chris and Zac, a film Vicky is also a Visual Effects Producer on, which is a total coincidence bee-tee-dub, Ollie is some lackey of Tom’s. Assistant! Tom’s assistant on set. Uh, Elsa is obviously married to Chris, John is my husband. Dear Henry ran Vicky over one day, spraining her ankle and being a generally nice guy since then. And I, dear sir, have known Vicky since were in middle school. This is, of course, why she is so awesome, and has actors helping her move in.”

"It should really be the Six Degrees of Amy," Luke suggested.

Amy laughed, “Maybe, but I can’t let my head get too big, since my stomach already is.”

"You do have that lovely glow about you," he replied. "I am guessing that it is something you've always possessed, however."

If wasn't so cold out, Amy would have melted right there. There wasn't any moss growing on her, either.

With her cheeks tinged pink, she smiled at him sweetly. "If I wasn't growing another human and married, I would say you were trying flirt with me. I know what you're trying to do."

He'd been caught. She was going to say he was working for the 'enemy' and expose him.

"You are acting as the inside man, aren't you?" She squinted one eye at him. "Butter up the best friend to get the goods on the girl. That is good, because I am totally game and think Vicky deserves a good man, which I think Henry is."

Luke let out the breath he had been holding.

"First thing you ought to know is that she isn't looking for a boyfriend right now. I know her, though, and if Henry can be a good friend, he'll have his chance.” She turned a critical eye toward him. “Assuming that is what he’s aiming for. If not, I will take him out back and beat him up, I don’t care if he’s Superman or not.”

He held up a placating hand. “From what I have heard him say of her, and have seen of the way he looks at her, it’s serious on his part.”

Amy gave him a nod. “Good. She’s had her feelings played with before, still getting over it. The guy did a doozy on her, practically grabbed her heart and ripped it right out of her chest. It’s the reason why she’s not too interested in a relationship.”

The information was logged away in his mind for later. From what he had heard, Henry already he knew that she had recently called off an engagement. The reasons why were never made clear until now. He wondered if Henry was interested in putting someone back together like that.

* * *

 

The larger items were eventually unloaded and placed in the rooms Vicky requested. Much to her dismay, they weren’t letting her into the smallest spare bedroom, which she had decided to use as her office. Chris and John wouldn’t let her get in. Elsa, Emma and Ollie were inside doing who knew what. (Chris’s mother had picked up India earlier.) She wanted to set up the room a certain way, and the guys just stood there with their arms crossed, refusing to let her pass.

“Oh my god, all you stupid alpha males, I swear!” she shouted at one point.

“I resent that!” John had protested. “I am a beta, thank you very much. We all know Amy is my alpha.”

“Damn straight,” Amy had called from downstairs.

After deciding on a tactical retreat, Vicky heard a crash - the second one of the day - come from downstairs. She feared the worst as she arrived at the crime scene.

The crash wasn't bad; it was more the noise resounding in the empty living room than anything breaking. It was Henry at the center of the accident, with Luke trying to help. It looked as if the box he had been picking up to move had had the tape break on the bottom.

She was starting to help them pick up when Henry noticed what the contents of the box were: art supplies. He saw a box of colored pencils, the insides spilling out. Another clear container had what it looked like was once an organized array of markers. A few well-worn journals and notebooks had colors bleeding the edges of pages, some wavy due to moisture. There may have even been a few children’s coloring books; he wasn't entirely sure, as she scooped them up before he could really examine them.

Luke picked up one of the sketchbooks. "You draw?" he asked as he started to thumb through the book.

"Yes," Vicky replied, without looking up from where she was picking up her other books and the colored pencils that had escaped their box. "It’s one of the reasons I got into what I am doing right now."

Henry put his now-empty box down and peeked over Luke’s shoulder. "You're really good."

Her head snapped up. "Close that!" The sketchbooks she had been gathering she set to the side as she stood up. "Give that to me!"

Henry took it from Luke and held it out to her. Right as her fingers touched it he snatched it away, grinning. "What are you afraid of us seeing? Are there nude studies in here?"

"Please give it back," she asked, and held out her hand for it.

"I think there may be nude drawings in there," Luke said in a conspiratorial manner to his friend.

"Let's see." Henry grinned and opened the book once more.

"Henry." Her tone was a warning, and once again she tried to take it, but he held it out of her reach above his head.

"Are they male or female?" He asked in response to her plea.

"Both, perhaps," Luke supplied.

"I'd give it back," Amy called to them from the kitchen, where she was with Zac, a little song in her voice, "Sooner rather than later!"

If there were sketches of naked men or women, Henry hadn't reached them yet as he and Luke looked up at it. There were landscapes and rooms, buildings. There was a very detailed drawing of a man's hand. Very mundane, in Henry's honest opinion.  Nothing racy or exciting, considering Vicky's reaction.

"Give it. Back. Now," Vicky said with murder in her voice. He looked down at her, grin still on his face. She looked kind of adorable when she was pretending to be angry. Maybe what they said about Latin women and their tempers was true.

In a tone nearly as dark as her own someone said, "I'd give her journals back to her if I were you."

Henry lowered the book to find Hiddleston giving him and Luke a death stare, his expression showing no mirth in it.

Vicky saw her opportunity and grabbed it from Henry. He let out a hiss as one of the pages gave him a paper cut. He had thought that her anger had been playful, an act. He realized he had been very wrong as he saw the hard set in her jaw and the way her gaze would probably have eviscerated him if super powers were real. Part of him also wondered how someone so short could make herself look tall and intimidating by changing her stance.

She walked towards them, her feet falling heavy on the wood. It wasn't quite stomping, but rather the sound of someone with determination and wrath boiling under their skin. She didn't say anything to either of them as she bent down and started to collect her things. The two men stood there dumbfounded as she did so, neither sure what to say or do. A few heartbeats later Hiddleston joined her to help.

"I think they should be done upstairs," Tom spoke softly to her. Vicky just nodded. He looked over at her as they quickly made work of gathering and re-boxing her things. While her expression was still dark, he saw a shine in her eyes. He knew she was holding back tears.

"Let's take these things to your new office. I know Elsa, Emma and Ollie want to give you a tour, but we can persuade them not to." Another nod was her only reply as she stood up.

Without another word, Vicky made for the staircase and Tom followed, holding the majority of her art supplies. It took all the restraint he had not to give Cavill a piece of his mind.

As he walked up the stairs he heard Amy scold them. "You idiots, those sketchbooks are like her diaries! I told you to give them back!"

A weak, "Oh," was Cavill's only reply.


	12. Chapter 12

Chris and John were chatting as Tom and Vicky came up the stairs. They had heard the crash, but not much else. So when Vicky came up on to the landing Chris was ready to make a quip until he saw Tom give him a quick head shake in the negative. That’s when they noticed their friends’ grim expressions. Vicky’s face was as if was set in stone, while Tom looked as if he wanted to murder someone.

“Are they done?” Tom asked as he stood next to Vicky.

“I’ll check,” John volunteered and ducked into the room, closing the door behind him.

Chris tried to subtly look to Tom to see if he could understand what had happened. Tom gave a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. So, it was Henry, and he must have done something to upset both of them. Tom gave his friend a small nod, indicating to Chris that he’d tell him later.

John, Elsa, Emma and Oliver all exited the room, their smiles and eyes alight with excitement. They faltered slightly when they saw that Tom and Vicky did not share their enthusiasm.

“Would you mind holding the door open so Vicky and I can put these away?” Tom lifted the bundle of art supplies in his arms slightly.

"Of course," Emma answered, the space between her brows crinkling as she looked between her brother and friend. All she could ascertain was that they weren't glaring at each other, so they weren't arguing. Thank goodness.

Following Emma's lead they all stepped aside; Chris opened the door for them.

The door clicked behind them as Vicky started talking, not paying attention to anything in the room. "I just need to find somewhere to put these, preferably with a lock.”  If she just focused on one thing right now and developed a sudden case of tunnel vision that would be great. Tunnel vision and a locked box.

Tom nodded his head and let her talk. He knew she needed to find her center again. She was off balance, figuratively speaking, and was trying to regain her footing. While he knew Vicky was prone to rambling when an idea hit her, she had a specific pattern of behavior when doing so: her body was still, save her hands, and her eyes would focus on something in the distance. He helplessly watched as she flitted around, not even taking in all the hard work their friends had done in so little time. Never, in all the years they had known each other, had he seen her like this. While he had never been told that her sketchbooks were private, he had always understood that they were, and had only ever seen the art within when she had shown selective pieces to him.

It was killing him not knowing what to do. An ache started in his chest at seeing her in such distress. He became torn between running downstairs to see if his recent fight training would allow him to give Cavill a black eye and staying with Vicky to make her pain go away. The choice was obvious. Any pain he might inflict on the man below was not worth leaving the woman in front of him.

So he did the only thing he thought might help. She might lash out at him, but it was worth a shot.

With a few strides forward Tom was in front of Vicky in the small room. She looked up at him, the tears still on the precipice of falling from her eyes, her books still held close to her chest, despite her claim of searching for a place to store them. His long fingers slowly covered hers. “Would you allow me to put these away for you?”

It seemed as if everything went quiet, as if the whole world went quiet, when Tom’s fingers covered hers. One thought, one silly thought entered her mind. ‘ _How are his hands always so warm?_ ’ She wasn’t completely sure what he said, but something inside her told her to trust him as she used to, like before he broke her heart. She just nodded her head and allowed him take the sketch journals from her hands. Then his arms were around her. That same something that told her to trust him was also telling her that it was okay now.

Vicky couldn’t help it; she let go. The tears started first, but his arms only tightened around her, and she finally put her arms around him. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, not saying a word, just allowing her to soak the front of his shirt.

It was such a stupid thing to cry over, for heaven's sake. Yet, standing there, with Henry and Luke laughing as they went through her things, holding them up high, made it feel as if she were reliving every horrible memory of someone mocking her for her drawings. From elementary school all the way through high school. Even a little bit in college. Just all those taunting smiles and jeering comments came rushing back to haunt her.

Here she was an adult with an amazing opportunity. How many people her age, in her field, were as advanced in their career as she was? She had just purchased her first home, in a foreign country, no less, and had doors opening for her. Such things were supposed to be beyond her by now. Things that frightened her ten years ago, or more, weren't supposed to affect her now. Right?

Once she cried her course she just held on to Tom for a little bit longer. Fingers on one hand were trailing up and down her back in a comfortable, soothing rhythm. Vicky turned her head, so her ear was resting against his chest. She could feel the dampness on his shirt from her tears, and the steady beat of his heart. _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump._

When she felt able to speak without her voice cracking she said, "I'm sorry."

"For what, love?" His hand stopped its journey on her back and he pulled his head up from where it had been resting on the top of her head. Tom tried to look at her, but she kept her face firmly to his chest and turned away from him.

"For being a silly girl and crying all over your shirt," Vicky replied.

He decided to nip that in the bud. Tom withdrew his arms from around her. She started to pull away from him, mouth open to apologize again or call herself something else he didn't believe she was.

Gently he placed his hands on either side of her face, making sure her eyes were on his. "You are a strong, brave, amazing woman," he told her. "You're also stubborn, have a bit of temper at times, and did I already mention stubborn? Eheheheh. You are never, nor will you ever be, a 'silly girl'. Just because you cry does not make you inferior in any way. Tears can denote many things, but never weakness, especially if you're the one shedding them."

Vicky wanted to cry all over again at his words, and nearly did. She gave a half-laugh, half-sob; a few tears escaped her eyes. Tom's thumbs quickly brushed them away.

"If you ever feel you need to have a good cry, for whatever reason, over a movie, after a hard day at work, or just because you need to, I want you to remember what I just said and then just cry." Tom moved his hands down so they settled at the curve where her neck met her shoulders. "If you need someone there, to sit next to you or hold on to you, always know that I will be there."

Vicky smiled up at him and gave him a nod. "Thank you, Tom."

"Anything for you, Nike," he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Still smiling she turned her head away to wipe her eyes and stopped after the first wipe. Her eyes had fallen on a drafting table.

"Oh, right," Tom chuckled. "Surprise!"

Mouth agape, Vicky turned back to him only to see a brand new computer desk behind him. Turning in a circle, she could barely take it all in. There were two new bookcases, a little sofa, corkboards and fabric boards on the walls, even a few studio floor lamps.

"I know this room isn't facing north, but I thought that even facing east it gets a fair amount of light." Tom watched her as she inspected everything, her fingers trailing across the drafting table, looking over the empty shelves on the bookcases, even giving the chair at the desk a spin with her hand. "It was Emma's suggestion to bring in the extra lighting."

He had done his research, had probably pestered and interrogated anyone he knew, personally or professionally, that had any background in art. He knew a room with windows facing north was ideal, as it tended to provide the most constant source of natural light to work with. A larger room would have been preferable but seeing as she had one room for herself and one room set aside for a guest, this was the only option. Granted, there were other essentials the room was lacking but they couldn’t really be change. He knew thought that getting her the drafting table was compulsory.

The smile that greeted him when she turned back around was like seeing the first sunny day after years of rain.

"This is all fucking amazing. How did you do this - is this why you kept me out of the house until the last minute?"

Tom couldn't hold back his laugh. "Yeah, I've been scheming with Chris, Elsa, John, Amy, Emma - everyone - ever since you signed for the house."

She looked around one more time before shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't know how I'm going to pay you back for this."

"You're not. It's our housewarming gift to you. No, don't even think about trying to." He held up his hand at her inaudible protest. "You're our friend; we'd do nothing less for you."

"Oh, gosh," she said with a roll of her eyes, tears in her eyes for a new reason. "Well thank you. Just one question, why the drafting table?"

He wished that the scene downstairs had not unfolded, as he knew she was going to be resistant to what he had to say now.

"That was my idea," Tom confessed with a grin and half-laugh. She raised her eyebrow. He was sinking before he even began.

Cautiously he went to the small table next to her drafting table and placed his hand on top of the sketchbooks he had sat there. Her body tensed for a moment when he did so. "Because you are an artist."

The look she gave him clearly said she didn't believe him. "I dabble. I do a few drawings here and there to unwind. It’s not good, but just passable enough to give me a better understanding for work."

"That's where we are of two different minds. I've seen what you have done, what you _can_ do. It’s brilliant."

"Pfft," was Vicky's reply. "Just because you say it in that pretty accent of yours doesn't make it true."

He took her hands in his, turning them over and back as he spoke. "You once told a story about your mother, how she identified artists' hands, and your own theory." Wrapping his finger around her hand, he continued. "When I look at your hands, I see an artist’s hands, and I'm not entirely sure why you never have."

"You are incredibly sweet," she gave his hand a quick squeeze.

"I know you like to keep this talent hidden. I'm not saying you need to show everyone, not unless you want to. Practice your craft, let it flourish, enjoy it in a way comfortable for you."

Vicky smiled and freed one hand to wipe at her eyes again. "You're going to make me cry again."

"As long as they are happy tears," Tom replied.

Then, unexpectedly for Tom, she wrapped her arms around his waist, giving him a hug. It didn't take long to wrap his arms around her again.

Tom didn't want to keep the way his soul constantly sought out hers, the way he truly cared for her, hidden any longer than he had to, but he knew he had a long way to go. The way she felt in his arms, though, was just so right. Holding her like this was what he thought, as cliché as it sounded, his arms were made for.

He was such a sap, and didn't give a shit.

"You're a good friend, Tom."

There was no pain at her words. No spirit dropping at those words, or dark clouds appearing over his head. Those words actually meant the world to him. While he was quite sure he loved her with his whole heart, to be her friend was a great honor and privilege. For one could love someone, but if friendship was not at its core, then it was something that would not last.

"Thank you. I'm trying," he admitted.

Vicky let him go. "Well, you're doing a great job."

"Good to know." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Now, we should really celebrate." Tom took a quick photo of her smiling at him, to which she playfully protested at, before he pulled up his music.

"Shall we dance?" He asked, holding out his hand to her.

"We shall," she agreed, and took his hand.

Tom twirled her before bringing her close to him, only to dance goofily with her. It wasn't long before her laughter rang throughout the house.


	13. Chapter 13

When they came back downstairs, they were all smiles. Vicky hugged and thanked all the friends that had helped her move in and put her office together. Everyone was glad to see that the little dark cloud that had been over them all lifted as she thanked them.

Chris gave Tom a raised eyebrow, to which he just shook his head slightly. Both Zac and John waggled their eyebrows at him, and Tom just shook his head, again, good-naturedly.

"Where's Henry and Luke?" Vicky asked Amy.

"They took the truck back, I think." Amy placed a hand on Vicky's upper arm. "For what it's worth, he is sorry about what happened."

Her friend didn't say anything, but just nodded. Amy wasn't sure if Vicky was agreeing with her, or just acknowledging the statement.

Soon people started heading out. Amy was getting tired from being on her feet most of the day, so the pregnant woman waddled out with John. Chris and Zac had a night shoot to get to, so Elsa left with them. Ollie had to go, too.

"And why haven't you left yet?" Vicky asked Tom as she closed the door after they bid his assistant farewell.

Tom shrugged, as if he didn't know. When she quirked her eyebrow at him he laughed and relented. "I arranged it so that I didn't have to be on set today. Alan and the producers were actually very understanding."

He didn't mention that there may or may not have been an "Attaboy!" from Feige and D'Esposito. Each.

She sweetly patted his cheek. "Your charming smile and blue eyes can get you anything."

"Nearly anything," he amended. "However, it will not make food miraculously appear for us. If you clear off the table, I'll order us something."

* * *

 

Sleeping in her new place was almost unsettling. It was too quiet, she wasn’t used to the few noises there were, and there was no little ball of fur to curl up with. Ramses was still at Millie’s until everything was unpacked.

That didn’t stop Vicky from passing out as soon as she fell on her bed. She had been too tired to dig out her sheets, let alone put them on properly. Instead she gathered all her blankets, comforters, and duvets, and made a nest out of them. Burrowing herself inside she was nice and warm. Sleep grabbed her in its arms and took her away.

It was no surprise to her at all, warm and content as she was, that she slept until just before noon. She might have slept later, except someone was knocking and ringing her doorbell.

“Go away,” she grumbled, burying herself inside her nest. No doubt they didn’t hear her; she hadn’t complained very loud. “I’m going to kill them.” Her threat was only heard by the blankets and boxes in her room as the person kept trying to gain her attention.

Murmuring and gnashing her teeth as she extricated herself from her slice of heaven, Vicky found mismatched slippers and robe before shuffling downstairs. The light still bothered her, so she did her best to walk around with her eyes open at the bare minimum.

As she came down the stairs she shouted that she was coming, and told the person to stop. Thankfully, they listened. With a few curses she made it down the last few steps and unlocked the door, only to be greeted by the worst possible sight.

A happy person. A happy person smiling and looking as if the sun was shining out their ass. A happy person smiling and looking as if the sun was shining out of their ass, with blue eyes sparkling in the late morning light.

It was Henry.

“Morning!” he greeted her cheerily. His smile was so big she could see the little points of his teeth. If she hadn’t just woken up, she might have found that adorable.

Oh, and she was supposed to be mad at him. Right.

“There is nothing good about this day, except for my warm bed that you so cruelly caused me to vacate,” she snapped at him.

Henry’s smiled faded just a bit. Up until this point he had never had the pleasure of experiencing the long lost daughter of Grumpy from the Seven Dwarfs. He never knew someone so short could be that furious-looking. Yesterday was bad, overall, but he was pretty sure this was worse.

"Not a morning person," he tried to lighten the mood with a smile and laugh.

"Now right the hell I'm not," she growled out.

Remembering he had brought peace offerings, he held up his hands. "I have coffee and something sweet." He offered her a paper cup and a small cardboard box.

She eyed the benefactions before stepping aside to give him entrance. "It would be a shame for those to go to waste."

"Terrible shame," he agreed, and entered.

"I want to say I'm sorry," he said as he walked to her kitchen.

Vicky trudged after him, her hands stuffed inside her robe pockets. "For what? Taunting me about going through something I consider very private? Or for bailing out with Luke and never coming back when you made out like you were?"

Wow, she was quick to strike and make sure it counted.

"Both, actually," Henry confessed. "On the first count, I should have listened to you and handed you your things. I didn't show you respect, and that is not at all how you should be treated."

Vicky was actually amazed at his admission. She was expecting him saying she needed to lighten up about yesterday. Yet he was taking responsibility for his actions.

"And me leaving with Luke under the disguise of returning the lorry, that...that was me running away with my tail between my legs."

She couldn't hold back a chuckle at the image it created.

Henry placed the hot beverage and pastry box on the black countertop. Vicky followed the smell, and stopped next to him to grab the coffee. The appreciative hum she let out made him smile. Her dark hair was messy, and there was a small clump stuck to her cheek, she had one fuzzy leopard slipper, and one more-conservative tan suede slipper. It made him think back to that one morning when she came running down the stairs, months ago, when they first met.

"Is your robe made out of a comforter?" He asked. He didn't think he'd ever seen one like it before.

She nodded her head, eyes closed, as she allowed the life-giving elixir to run down her throat. The coffee was perfectly made. Sweet, super sweet, just how she liked it, and she could tell he had ordered extra shots of espresso in it. It was going to wake her up, that was for sure. When she was done, eyes open, she gave her body a happy little shake, and saw Henry grinning at her.

“What?” she asked, allowing one side of her mouth to tip up in something that might have passed for a smile.

“Just glad you seemed to enjoy that, and not burn your mouth.”

Vicky shrugged and set the empty cup down. “It wasn’t that burning hot, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it.” She picked up the small box and opened it. Expecting a muffin or something, she was surprised to find a large chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting.

“I know it's not a traditional breakfast food, but I thought you might like it.”

It was then that she realized he didn’t know about her quirk. To be polite she took a small bite (very small). Just that made her stomach churn. Hoping to draw his attention away from her eating she asked, “So what made you turn into a fifteen-year-old boy yesterday?”

His cheeks started to turn red and he looked away. “I was honestly just trying to have a little fun with you. Thought my teasing was in good nature, and at first I thought you were playing along, too. I didn’t realize that your drawings were so private, and I should have stopped when you told me to, regardless if I thought you were playing along.” He ran a hand through his dark curls. “I am very sorry, Vicky. Words cannot express that enough.”

While he had been talking, Vicky had been licking the frosting off the cupcake. The pastry was left bald and sticky on top by the time Henry was done speaking. Trying to hide her work, she placed it back in its box.

Her efforts were in vain as he spotted her move. When her back was turned to throw away the empty coffee cup, he took a peek inside the box. Curious, he asked, “Did you just lick the frosting off that?”

“Yes.”

Raising an eyebrow, he continued, “Do you have some aversion to chocolate cake?”

Feeling her cheeks grow red, she scratched the back of her head. “Yeah...”

He pondered on that for a moment, thinking it was false. “You... _don’t_...like chocolate cake?”

“Nope. Or brownies, and I have to be in the mood for chocolate ice cream.”

“But you’ll eat chocolate frosting?” Henry asked, to which she nodded her head. “Why?”

Dramatically clearing her throat, with her hand on her chest, she said, “I don’t eat chocolate cake. My parents theorize I was mentally scarred by it as a child, though unsure how. I eat just about anything else chocolate though. My personal explanation is this: to me chocolate cake is not real chocolate. I taste it, expecting to taste something similar to a chocolate bar and I don’t. I taste some wannabe imitation. I know this is a crime, and I have the same reaction to red velvet cake, which I didn’t realize was chocolate-cake-dyed-red until I tried it.” It was a well-rehearsed speech, and sadly one she had to give every time someone found out that she didn’t like chocolate cake.

Henry was impressed, because that was the most thought-out explanation of not liking something, without trying to ruin it for others, that he had ever heard. “I will go head, then, and cross chocolate cake off the list of things that I thought you liked.”

She smiled, “Thanks. Sorry for my still-prevailing surly attitude, but, aside from trying to buy my forgiveness with breakfast, is there anything else you came over for?”

He laughed, not taking offense at her words. “I was wondering if you’d like some help unpacking the rest of your stuff.” Before she could say anything, he added, “I will only touch what you allow me. If you tell me not to touch or open something, or to put it down immediately, I will do so right away.”

Vicky contemplated his offer for several moments before responding. “Okay, but let me go get changed, so I can try and pass as a living member of society.”

After she came downstairs, accomplishing her goal and beyond, they got to work on the few boxes remained. Henry followed her instructions. If she told him to put what he had in his hands aside, he would, without peeking or trying to discern what was inside. He was determined to show her that he could do better.

As they worked, they shared stories. Henry told her a story about his brothers helping him move into the place he lived now. It ended with them having to call a plumber. Vicky told him about the one birthday, when she was little, that her parents, by accident, got her a chocolate cake. It ended with her throwing up the cake in a trash can. The incident made her realize that her aversion to chocolate cake was so much more, as it actually made her ill to eat it.

When they were done for the day, Henry offered to make her dinner, until he saw her cupboards were bare. Instead they ordered in, built a blanket and box fort, and watched a movie on her laptop as they ate.

The next day Henry came by to help her go to the store and get groceries.

* * *

 

It was after two in the morning on Sunday when Henry’s phone began to ring. He thought of ignoring it, figuring whoever it was would either leave a message or call back later. It stopped, and he started to settle back to sleep when it started to ring again. He fumbled for it, thinking he’d at least see who was calling him. Vicky’s name and smiling face greeted him as he looked at it.

Swiping his finger across the screen, he answered it. “Vicky?”

“Henry, I’m sorry, I know you were asleep, but I’ve tried calling someone else, but they aren’t answering.” Her voice was shaky as she spoke, and a little panicked.

He tossed his covers off and swung his legs out of bed. “What is wrong; what’s going on?”

She let out a shuddering breath on the other line. “I’m scared. I’m really scared.”

Holding the phone to his ear, he adjusted his pyjama bottoms so they weren't twisted around his legs. “Baby, you’ve got to talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.” He quickly slipped on a hooded sweater from his floor, his heart racing as he put his mobile back to his ear. “Vicky, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m sitting here in my room, I have my softball bat, and Ramses is going crazy downstairs hissing up a storm.” She let out a little hiccup before continuing. “I think someone followed me home again.”

Henry cursed as he slipped on his trainers. “Again? Have you called the police?”

“I did last time. They told me that I was just being paranoid, and that it was probably someone just going home the same way as me. To be honest, I kind of brushed it off, too.”

Grabbing his keys and wallet from his dresser, he walked out of his flat, forgoing the lift in favor of the stairs to the underground car park. Not for the first time he was happy that he had a first floor flat. However, he was cursing the fact that he lived so far from Vicky right then.

He kept her talking until he started his car. “Don’t go anywhere; I’m putting you on speaker,” he warned as his phone connected to the Bluetooth in his car. He started his Aston and peeled out of his spot, the squeal of his tires echoing off the walls. As he was zooming up the drive onto the street, he prayed the roads would be clear.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” she kept repeating over and over again as his phone finally connected to his system.

His foot went down the the floor. “What, what happened?”

“I hit my knee on my nightstand. I’m going to have a bruise tomorrow,” she hissed.

The wave of relief that hit him at hearing that was immense, and the laugh that escaped him was more a form of tension release than actual joy.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she scolded.

“Right, sorry. Is the creep still there?”

She was quiet, but he could heard the rustling of cloth and something metal hit something dull. “Frack, they’re still there. Just standing there, staring at my front door. Why me? I’m nothing special. And why did Gemma have to get sick?"

“Your assistant,” Henry clarified as he sped along the streets of London, glad that they were mostly empty at this hour.

“We’ve been carpooling home together lately, mainly because she has a car and drives fairly decently. She got sick this week, though, and has been out, and there was no car to take me home tonight. I mean, I left a little later than everyone else, but still, someone could have hung back. So I had to bum a ride to Shepperton Station, and it was an hour on the train. I know they followed me from at least when I switched over at Waterloo.” She took another deep, shuddering breath. “I never saw their face, so I don't know if they were actually looking at me. When I got off at Belsize, they did, too; then they followed me up the street. I spent an hour panicking that they were going to attack me. They're just standing there, staring, and I can’t go to sleep, because what if that’s what they’re waiting for? What if they come in and kill me while I sleep? A few days ago they followed me home from the market, what if they are just learning my habits? God, I felt safer in West Hollywood than I do right now.”

“You just keep an eye on them; let me know if they move, even if it's to scratch their nose.” He ran a red light, and was thankful no one was there to witness it. “Watch them, but there is no need to let them upset you anymore. Let’s talk about something else.”

She laughed, despite the fact that she did not think his suggestion was funny. “Right, yes, let’s ignore the fact that there is a serial killer across the street from me.”

Taking a turn quickly, he checked his mirrors to make sure there weren’t any flashing lights. “No, keep your eyes on him. Just talk.”

“About what? Because my brain is still pretty focused on something else.”

“Um, talk about what you had for breakfast,” Henry suggested, listing things off the top of his head, “or Game of Thrones, or who you had your first kiss with.”

“My first kiss?” she squeaked.

“Yeah, who was the lucky bloke? My first kiss was Mary Babbington, behind a tree. I think we might have been ten or eleven.”

Vicky laughed, trying to think of how it came to this. A few weeks ago she was moving in, spending her working days on set, and having a little fun. Tom had convinced her to attend a few of his appearances with him. She had been hesitant at first. They had gone and seen ‘The Bodyguard’ opening night last week. A musical, of all things. It was actually really good. Then they went and saw _Django Unchained_ at a private screening yesterday, well, Friday, as yesterday was technically Sunday now. Sure, some photogs caught them coming out of restaurant this past week, but overall putting herself in front of a camera was okay. As long as she stayed off Twitter and kept her Facebook page as private as possible. Some of Tom’s more...”devoted” fans were very verbal in their need to express how they felt she resembled a heifer, or other barnyard animals. It was a little disheartening, but Tom had been a good shoulder to lean on.

Wednesday, the day after they were spotted out at dinner, was the first time she spotted her stalker. Here she now was, holed up in her room, talking to Henry, and he was asking her about her first kiss. While some jerk watched her from across the street.

“You have been kissed before, haven’t you?” Henry teased. She could only imagine him with one of his crooked grins as he waited for her response.

“Yeah, I have,” Vicky rolled her eyes. “I was fifteen. His name was Chaz, and he had just asked me to go to this big school dance with him.”

“That sounds very sweet,” Henry said in the same tone one adopts when talking to babies.

“Right, that is until a few weeks later, on the same day I got my dress for the dance, when he called me up to tell me he forgot he had already asked someone else before he asked me. Then he got back together with his ex-girlfriend.” She adjusted her grip on the bat as she talked to him.

“I think your first clue that he was a jerk was that his name was _Chaz_.”

She shrugged it off. “Yeah, but what can I say? I was fifteen. First crush, and he was actually fairly popular at school. So there was that little teen thrill that I, being a nobody, was going out with a somebody. So for a little bit I felt like I was about to start my own princess story.”

“It also sounds like the plot of about fifty teen movies,” Henry chuckled.

“Whatever. You asked, and I told you.”

“Is he still there?” Henry asked.

Vicky peeked out of the little holes made for the string in her blinds. It was the only way she could look out, without them knowing she knew they were there. “Yes,” she confirmed, and then jumped when Ramses meowed his presence in her room.

“Where are they?”

“Right across the street, standing just outside of the light from a street lamp. They’ve got on a hat and hooded jacket. They’ve been there since they jiggled the garden gate out front, after I locked the front door.”

“Good to know, because I am coming up your street and I think I see them now,” Henry growled.

“What?!” Vicky put her hand in the blinds and pulled down. Sure enough, headlights were racing up the street, the roar from his engine echoing off the homes on either side. The stalker seemed to take notice of this as well, and started to run towards her home, but then veered left and toward Garnett Road, and disappeared.

“Holy shit, what was that?” Vicky asked.

“I was going to run them over if they had stayed still,” Henry replied, sounding irritated.

“Oh my god,” she muttered.

“I’m going to turn around and park. I’ll be there in a minute or two.” Vicky just dumbly nodded, as if he could see her, and Henry hung up without further comment.

Vicky dropped her phone down on the bed and looked at her cat. His reddish eyes just blinked at her, waiting for her do something. “Okay, uh, I guess we’re letting Henry in.”

Bat still in hand, she made her way downstairs. After hearing a small knock on her door, she approached it and opened it a crack as she made sure it was actually Henry on the otherside.

“Hello,” Henry smiled at her, his dark hair tousled and with a few days' growth on his face.

Vicky opened the door all the way and shooed him inside. After she closed it and locked the door she turned around and he had adopted a very serious face.

“Are you all right?” His eyes scanned her, as if he was expecting to find her injured.

She laughed nervously, “Aside from the fact that I seem to have a stalker, yeah, everything is fine. Perfect, absolutely perfect.”

“Yes, you sound as if you’re fine. Why don’t I make you a cup of tea - wait, no tea for you. Got any hot chocolate?”

Vicky nodded, “Yeah, I do.”

Henry followed her into her kitchen, her black cat winding between his legs. Ramses was purring so loudly he could hear it as they walked. The cat seemed to have taken a liking to him recently.

They drank their hot chocolates in silence. He watched her calm down as she sipped her beverage, sitting in the chair at the dining table. Ramses lay across her foot and groomed himself. Henry just waited for her to talk, when she was ready.

“I didn’t know you were coming up here,” Vicky finally said when the last drop of chocolate was gone.

“I wasn’t just going let you deal with a lunatic by yourself." Henry reached across the table and took her hand in his.

Her laugh was slightly tinged with hysteria. "Lunatic, perfect description. Lunatic. How did you get here so fast?"

Ugh. Him and that stupid, charming smile that showed off his lovely canines. "A total disregard for any and all traffic laws."

"I'm glad you made it here in one piece. As horrible as this will make me seem, I'm also glad you tried to run the lunatic over."

"As bad as this will make me sound, I'm sorry I missed the bastard."

They both laughed until she started to yawn.

"I'm so glad I have the next two days off," Vicky spoke through a yawn. She gave him a shy, sleepy smile. "I think I'm just going to curl up in my bed for the next two days." Her hand reached up and rubbed under her left eye.

"I totally understand if you say no, but would you mind staying? I'd feel better if someone else was here." She was a little nervous asking this of him, and she felt herself start to ramble. "I have the guest room mostly set up. I mean, it has sheets on the bed. I'll have to dig out some warm blankets-"

Henry squeezed her hand. "I wasn't just going to leave you alone tonight, not unless you forced me from your home. The guest room will be fine."

A sigh of relief escaped Vicky.

Henry settled into the sparsely furnished guest room, kicking his shoes off and tossing his jumper on the end of the bed. He couldn't go to sleep right away, still fighting that part of him that wanted to chase after the man who dared to threaten Vicky. His mind was also making a list of things to discuss with her in the morning: installing a security system, having her carry some type of defense, hiring a car service for her.

He might have dozed; he wasn't sure. Maybe he had just zoned out. It didn't matter. The next thing he knew there was a scream, Vicky's scream. Nearly falling as he ran to her room, he added to his list to obtain his own form of defense.

Without ceremony he threw open her bedroom door. Seeing her sitting up on the bed, a disgruntled Ramses yowling from the floor, he went straight to her.

Gently he placed his hands on her shoulders, and when she jumped from the contact he allowed his hands to hover just above them. "What is it? Did he come back?"

She sniffled and shook her head. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "No, I just...I fell asleep, and I didn't think I had, but I did, and then I dreamed that he came here. That he got inside and he stood above me with a knife in his hand, saying he was going to skin me alive and wear my hair as a wig."

Unable to hold back any longer she began to sob. "And I called for you; I called your name for so long my voice grew hoarse and you didn't come. You didn't come, because he had already killed you. Oh my god, oh my god, if they come back they'll kill me, right?"

Mentally cursing this faceless menace, he wrapped her up in his arms and held her close. She did jump at his touch this time. "Shh, shh, no one is going to hurt you. I am fine; you are safe. They ran away like a coward." His hand stroked her hair. "If they came back, it would be the last thing they did. I promise you that."

He brushed his lips against her forehead. "Tomorrow, however, we are looking into getting a security system for you. The best one money can buy. Or at least the best one both of our monies together can buy."

"Usually I wouldn't accept money from friends like that, but I'm going to say fuck that and bleed you dry for a decent alarm system."

"That's my girl," Henry laughed.

"Just don't go anywhere right now, please," Vicky begged. "I don't think I'll get back to sleep unless there is another human that I know in this room."

"Of course," he replied, his arms tightening around her. "I won't go anywhere; I'll stay here until you tell me to leave." Vicky nodded her head in agreement.

They were quiet for a long time; he was sure Vicky had fallen asleep after a while. He shifted so that they were both lying down, instead awkwardly sitting up. Even after that it was still quiet, until her voice softly broke the silence.

"You know, I didn't realize how hairy your chest is."

He had forgotten he didn't have his jumper on, and that he also hadn't put on a shirt before he left his flat.

"I am not sure if I should apologize or say thank you."

"You're welcome."

He chuckled and kissed the top of her hair. "You should sleep. I'll be right here. As I said before, I'm not going anywhere."

She nodded her head and grew silent once more. It wasn't until he heard a soft snore and doubled checked to make sure she was actually asleep that he succumbed himself..


	14. Chapter 14

Tom ran, as he did most mornings, or at least when his schedule and the weather allowed it. He pushed himself as fast as he could. This morning, however, he was not concentrating on improving his time, or pacing himself.

He was running to Vicky’s house, praying that she was all right, that no harm had come to her. He’d rain hell down upon anyone who hurt her.

Tom was ready to rain hell upon himself. His phone had been turned to silent during the night, something he had done by accident; the four calls and two voicemails she had left were missed. It wasn’t until that morning, shortly after he awoke, that he had seen the missed notifications on his phone. He was in the middle of dressing for a morning run already when he listened to her frantic pleas for him to answer his phone, scared that she had someone following her.

It was quicker to run to her than driving; he was thankful that they lived so close to each other.

If Tom had been timing himself he’d have realized that this would be his best one-mile run yet. That was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

He knocked firmly on her door, tempted to call her name, but it was still early enough that her neighbors wouldn’t appreciate the disturbance. He paced on the small landing in front of her door, waiting for her to open it. It was early morning; she could still be sleeping. If she was sleeping, and unharmed, waking her this early would be a gamble. He’d either be faced with the child of Ebenezer Scrooge and Grumpy, or the flirtatious embodiment of joy.

There was still no answer, so he knocked again, a little harder. His hands flexed at his sides. Why didn’t he have a key? She didn’t have one to his place, that was the most likely reason. He should give her a key. A copy of the keys to his Jaguar, too. Keys to anything else he could think of: a storage locker, his mother’s home, his father’s. His heart.

Whoa there, Tom; settle. She’s not quite there yet.

Right, what was he doing? Ah, yes, trying to give Vicky access to every part of his life that he could possibly imagine, so that she could reach him in her times of need. Especially when he had his phone on silent.

As Tom knocked again, waiting for Vicky to answer while simultaneously wondering if he should ring the hospitals in London to see if she was admitted, an occupant upstairs woke up.

* * *

 

The scent of something spicy mixed with fruit filled Henry’s nose. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent. It was divine.

Cracking an eye open he found his face buried in an unfamiliar pillow. He moved his arm, only to find an arm not his own draped across it. Opening both eyes, he took a look around. Yeah, he didn’t know this room. He looked at the arm. Oddly enough, it seemed familiar. He could have sworn Vicky had the same bracelet.

He craned his neck to look behind him, at the body curled against his back. It was Vicky. He remembered then her two-in-the-morning phone call.

Now someone was persistently knocking on the door downstairs.

Slowly slipping from her lovely arms, Henry got up and picked up her bat. He pulled the coverings over her, smoothed the hair away from her face with a kiss on her temple, and then made his way downstairs. Her cat lifted his head, blinking sleepily as he watched him go, before burrowing further into his spot in the bend of Vicky’s knees.

Henry’s feet fell heavy on the stairs as he went down. There was a growl of frustration from outside. With the bat up and ready to strike with one hand, he opened the door.

"Fuck," Hiddleston cursed, taking a step back.

Henry wanted to laugh, but managed to maintain a stony expression.

"Sorry, mate. Thought you were someone who was trying to break into the house."

Hiddleston’s eye twitched at being called “mate,” but he didn’t comment on it. “I was seeing if Vicky was alright, if she was home.”

Henry smirked and rested the bat against his shoulder. The cool metal of the bat made gooseflesh rise on his skin. He had forgotten until that moment he didn’t have his jumper on.

"She was asleep the last time I saw her. May have woken Ramses, though, when I got up."

Taking it as his cue, the black feline meowed his presence and then rubbed his body against Henry’s leg. Cats weren’t at the top of Henry’s list of favorite pets, but, wanting to put on a good show, he leaned the bat against the wall near the door and picked up Ramses.

This really set Ramses off, and he started to purr loudly. Hiddleston eyed the cat as if he was a traitor, to which the cat responded by head-butting Henry’s jaw.

Henry scratched him under the chin. “Good boy; bed hog, but good boy.”

Hiddleston’s face flushed red.

"What’re you two hens clucking about?" Vicky yawned and rubbed her eye.

Ramses jumped from Henry’s arms, scratching his forearm as he leapt. He tried not to show that it hurt. 

As Vicky reached down to pet her cat, he meowed at her, begging for food. “Yes, Ramses, I’ll feed you, you greedy beast.”

Hiddleston bumped Henry’s shoulder as he walked passed him into the house. Henry glared at the blond git as he followed Vicky into the kitchen.

"Henry, can you close the door please?" Vicky asked as she poured food into the cat’s bowl.

"Yeah, _mate_ , you’re letting the cold air in,” Hiddleston teased, a grin on his face.

For a brief moment Henry wished that DC and Marvel were the same company, because there would have been been at least one comic of Superman beating up Loki. Therefore, a good chance of it making the big screen. Just for a _very_ brief moment he wished.

Vicky and Hiddleston were talking quietly as he entered the kitchen.

"I’m fine now," he heard Vicky quietly say. She turned and gave Hiddleston a small smile.

"I am sorry. I never have my phone on silent; it won’t happen again."

Again she smiled at him. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. Besides, later Henry is going to take me to get a security system.”

The man’s eyes rose nearly to his hairline.

"That’s right, I will get you the best that money can buy, darling," Henry chimed in. He could really see the man bristle at that. This was fun.

"See, I’m good." She patted his cheek. "Now go finish your run. Or go home and shower, you’re kinda sweaty."

Hiddleston looked to be debating her words and finally sighed with a nod. “I will see you later then.”

He went to hug her but she ducked out of it and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Sweaty, remember. _Salir pitando._ ”

The guy laughed, “Okay, okay I will.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and said goodbye. As he passed Henry the prick had the nerve to look smug about it.

Again he wished for that movie.

He watched him close the door before going there and locking it.

"I have two questions for you," Henry said as he leaned on the counter across from her, watching her pull out cold cereal and a bowl.

"Go ahead, shoot," Vicky replied as she poured the colorful cereal into her bowl.

"Do you have any plans for New Year’s?"

She stopped to think about it. “No, not unless I get dragged out by Emma.”

"Would you go to a New Year’s party with me, then?"

"What, all the models turn you down? Scraping the bottom of the barrel, I would think." She teased as grabbed milk from the fridge.

"You don’t have a grasp on just how beautiful you are, do you?" Henry asked, amazed.

Vicky rolled her eyes. “Yes, I make all the boy moose go ‘Waaaaaah!’”

He laughed, completely unaware that a person could make that noise up until now.

"Consider me a boy moose, then."

He was sure the whole neighborhood heard her laugh. When she said yes to being his date, his smile was filled with as much joy as her laugh had been.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I whole heartily apologize, this has literally been sitting in my drafts on AO3 since August 2016. Sorry for the very big delay.

****Henry promised they'd discuss her security system later that week, as it was Sunday. He left shortly after noon, at her insistence that she was a big girl and with a promise that she would call the police if the creep came back.

Vicky had a sandwich and then went back to bed.

It was around 4 p.m. that she woke back up. Much like this morning it was not her choice to wake up, but a noise outside her dreams that roused her.

That, and Ramses pawing at her nose.

Couldn't she just sleep, as she planned for two days?

Nope. Ramses swatted her nose again.

"Fine," Vicky groaned, tossing off her covers and scaring the cat so he jumped off the bed.

Once she did, the noise became easily identifiable as her phone. Flinging herself dramatically across the bed, she snatched it up and answered it.

"Thomas, I was in the middle of a gloriously long nap, dreaming of just winning a fantastic battle and having my enemies fall to the ground and worship me. Why did you wake me?"

"Forgive me, Your Excellency, the next time I do so I will offer the proper benedictions. Alas, I have no excuse except the dinner we scheduled for tonight."

Vicky groaned and rolled over. "I forgot. I'm sorry. This whole thing with the creeper...it just totally slipped my mind."

"It’s okay. I'm sure you probably have something planned with Cavill. I'd hate to impose." Tom paused on the other line before adding, "Or you both can come over and have dinner. I'm sure I have enough for three people."

Vicky brushed the thought away with a hand. "No, I have no other plans, and Henry is long gone. I sent him home so I could go back to sleep."

"What are you doing alone? What if this person comes back?"

"I'll call the cops again, and arm myself with my bat and a chef's knife." Vicky pulled herself out of bed and went to her wardrobe looking for something to wear.

"That sounds like a terrible plan."

"It probably is."

The sigh Tom gave was one that could only be made out of exasperation at a loved one. "If we're still on for dinner, I will be there in thirty minutes to pick you up."

"Okay, see you in thirty."

They said goodbye, and then Vicky went into mad-dash mode to get ready.

* * *

The meal was done and they sat nursing their drinks. Vicky kept allowing herself to be distracted by the sparkly flecks in the black stone inlaid in Tom's table, and the stylized Thor poster that was framed behind him. Despite putting on a brave face, the incident from earlier was still troubling her. More than once Tom reached across the table to cover her hand with his, gently snapping her out of her dark thoughts.

"That was good Pad Thai," Vicky said just before she took a sip of her red wine. Tom had told her the name, vintage and year. She had never been one to remember or retain such things, outside the color. Whatever he had paired with their meal went with it perfectly.

Tom took a sip of his own wine, grinning. "Thank you. I know it's your favorite; I wanted to make it for you tonight."

"Careful. You'll end up spoiling me," she teased as she had another sip.

"If spoiling you means that you are happy, Nike, then that is all that matters."

Tom had been calling her by her nickname as much as he could. It was as if he were trying to make up for all the time he had missed calling her Nike. She had not asked him to stop since he had shown her the little studio make-over and they seemed to have reconciled. He took it as a good sign.

In fact, he had even called her Nike in public, something she had requested him long ago not to do. It wasn’t done premeditatively. He was just so rhapsodic to have their relationship back, nearly the way it once was, that Tom had allowed his name for her to slip into his everyday vernacular.

Even when he called her Nike in public, Vicky didn’t hush him.

They had been on set, after they wrapped, when he first did it. She was walking away.

_"Wait, Nike!” he had called out._

_Several people, Chris among them, unfamiliar with that name as they were, had stopped and looked to see who this Nike was._

_Vicky had handed something to Gemma, who did not look entirely happy that she was answering Tom, and replied, "Yes, darling!" with just a trace of teasing in her voice._

_He held up her red-covered tablet. "Forget something?"_

_While those who witnessed the exchange were a mixture of confused and relieved, Tom had unconsciously begun using his pet name for her publicly, daily, since then. While it would cause confusion for friends and colleagues, she never asked him to refrain._

"You're such a smooth talker," Vicky laughed lightly, bringing him back to the present.

Tom laughed as well. "Yes, smooth, like gravel."

As she ran a finger up and down the stem of her glass, she rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure you're well aware how articulate you are, you eloquent bastard."

He couldn’t hold back his smile as he stood and took their plates into the kitchen. “That may be the case now, but I can assure you that any gift of tongue you are witnessing is recent. I have always faltered in my words around you, Nike.” He heard her chair scrape across the tiled floor as he gave the dishes a quick rinse-off in the sink. “Yet don’t be surprised if I continue to trip and stumble. My locution seems to suffer when I am trying to verbally express the depth of emotion I feel for you.” He walked out of the kitchen to find her gone, and sighed, “And you are nowhere to be found. Bollocks.”

“Whoa!” Tom heard her exclaim down the hallway. Following her voice, he found her in his office.

Holding her glass of wine, she gazed in wonderment at the assortment of boxes and post in crates that he had managed to cram into the small room. “Late night shopping?" she giggled, as he entered the room.

"Hardly. No, these are from my fans." He placed his hand on a small stack of boxes that currently covered his desk.

Vicky paused at that. Fans. That seemed such a funny word to associate with this man she had known a third of her life. He'd always been an actor, sure, but she never thought that he'd have fans.  It made sense, naturally, but it just seemed so foreign.

"That seems so strange. You're just Tom." She spun around taking it all in the boxes and letters. Some were opened on his desk, small as it was. She could see at least one typed letter, one written, a piece of art depicting Loki, and a leg from a knitted doll. "You're just a man. I - I am not even sure how to describe. . . you're Tom!"

"Yes, I am," he couldn't help but laugh, and stepped closer. "And you're Vicky, in case you forgot. I am Tom, and that is why everything is addressed to me."

His long, lanky frame started to fill up the room, much like an open secret does at a family reunion. The jerk knew absolutely what he was doing, too. He knew what kind of presence he was casting; it wasn't imposing, but it was nearly unavoidable. Damn Tom and his theatre training.

"You're so funny." Vicky tried to change the subject. "So Mister Celebrity, how many marriage proposals have you come across?"

"A few," he chuckled. "I've received a small amount of thank-you letters, I think the proper term would be." Tom seemed to get self-conscious for a moment. "Most say I am the reason why they are changing their lives."

"You inspired them."

"I wish they would put it like that. While it is flattering, many phrase it so it sounds as though I should get the credit. I do nothing that deserves credit. If they are making a change it should be for themselves, not me."

She could see that some of these letters had clearly affected Tom. Reaching out a companionable hand, she took his and gave it a squeeze. "And who has inspired you; who has had some influence on your life?"

Tom was so nearly lost in the sensation of just holding her hand that he almost didn't hear her question. Who inspired him? He thought for a moment. There were his parents, grandparents, Shakespeare, and so many more. The one that came out of his mouth was his current inspiration.

"You, Nike; you inspire me." He made sure their eyes met when he said that. “You have inspired me since the first moment I met you.”

He watched as her mouth, with her lovely plump lips, opened and closed. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, almost as if she had just spotted her favorite dessert. Tom hoped he was her favorite dessert.

Then he ruined his own moment because his mind decided to have Sebastian from The Little Mermaid sing “Kiss the Girl” inside his head. Thank God he didn’t laugh, but it did halt him from seeing if her lips were as soft as he remembered. Why his brain chose that moment to betray him, he didn’t know.

Instead of kissing her (he really wanted to kiss her), he shifted their hands so their fingers entwined, allowing him to stroke his thumb across the pulse on the inside of her wrist. He could see that the gesture, while small, had an effect on her, as it she very nearly melted right in front of him.

With a little shake of her shoulders she brought herself back from wherever her mind had gone wandering. “Uh, don’t you have to do the thing, for that thing?” It was refreshing seeing her get just as flustered as he felt around her.

He couldn't hold back the grin that spread across his lips. "The thing for what thing?" Teasing her was irresistible.

Vicky tried to answer again when Tom's thumb started to stroke her wrist once more. "F-for that guy, the MTV guy. Josh or John or Pete."

“Right.” With a tug on her hand he led her out to where his laptop was currently set up. Before they made it to where it was, by the Christmas tree, she stopped.

“What is that?”

Tom looked around to find the thing that shocked her. It wasn’t the the fairy lights he had strung across the ceiling, around the railing on his balcony, and it wasn’t the sculpture his flat came with, which she referred to as “Zombie on a Stripper Pole.” No, her eyes were firmly on the book he had left resting on his formal dining table. The Wendy book.

“Is that some fashion-house book or something?” she added. “With your face on it? And why did they put a cartoon mustache on you?” Her brows seemed to be coming closer and closer together as she spoke and studied the book.

“Actually, my fans made that for me,” he explained simply.

Her eyes went wide at that, and she turned away from it. “Okay, that is almost too much to process right now. Amazing; don’t get me wrong, but wow. Still haven’t gotten over you having fans.”

He softly laughed. “I completely understand. It is something I am working on as well. Want to help film this little video I am supposed to send MTV for the Loki’d outtakes?” The change in topic was intentional. He didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or dwell on his “celebrity status.” Just as he didn’t want her to dwell on what had happened to her last night.

“Loki’d-what?“

“Have you not seen anything I’ve done in the past year?” Tom asked, mock-offended.

She just grinned at him. “Nope, sorry. I was too busy admiring other pretty men on the silver screen. Don’t ask me to name any, because their bare chests all blend into one.” Vicky gave him a little wink before laughing.

“I would be offended, except I don’t think I am one of those ‘pretty men’.”

“¡Eres precioso! Of course you are.” She cupped his cheek briefly and narrowly avoided his seeking gaze when she took her hand away. “Let’s do your thing, and then you can show me this Loki video. You didn’t actually dress up as Loki, did you?”

He shook his head and laughed. “No, no. I just go around shouting ‘Loki’d’ in lieu of ‘punked.’ It is completely silly.”

“We’ll have to watch it after this,” she suggested. The smile she gave him as they walked over to his Mac didn’t quite reach her eyes. He knew it wasn’t exactly fake; he knew she meant that she wanted to see it. Tom thought that perhaps the unspoken fact in the room, that it had taken place during their separation (as he’d come to call it), didn’t stir up the most pleasant memories for her. Tom did not like being the cause of her dysphoria.

“Sounds like a plan. Now, would you mind helping me?” Tom asked sweetly.

With one eyebrow raised she replied, “Mm. I should be wary, but I’m going to say yes, of course.”

“Could you be my clapboard?”

“Uh, on camera? I didn’t think this required that.”

Tom smiled, eyes twinkling in the fairy lights. “You won’t be on video, unless you want to, but perhaps if you could stand in front of me, use your hands or arms to do it?” She agreed to those terms.

His greeting took two takes, while his farewell only took one. As Tom was twirling his imaginary mustache, he tried to keep his eyes on the little camera of his Mac. Vicky was still in front of him, but she was going red in the face from trying to hold back her laughter. He tried to focus, but at the end he couldn’t contain his laughter, and let it out, doubling over.

When they were both done laughing and wiping tears from their eyes, Vicky helped edit the little video for MTV and send it off. Tom shut down his laptop, moved the chair he was using back over to the long dining table, and started to follow her out of the room back to his office.

“Do you want to come upstairs and watch the Loki’d video?” he asked as he returned his computer to his desk.

The pink that blossomed across her cheeks was endearing. “Upstairs, as in your room upstairs?”

“Unless you know of a secret telly in the gallery.” Her cheeks became pinker. “The one in my room really has the best resolution, and there would be no need for me to hover behind you as we watched.”

He didn’t mention the television he had on the ground floor. Not that he was exactly planning anything. Exactly.

Vicky finally acquiesced, but it was clear she had her own ideas in mind. He only knew that from the intelligence gathered by watching her eyes. He thought he knew, but would wait to see.

They settled onto his bed, Tom firmly on one side, Vicky on the other. The space between them would have made a nice little bed for Ramses, if the cat had been there. As nice as it would have been to have her cuddled into his side, he wanted to see her reactions. Fiddling with his remote, he became very nervous suddenly. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, and was suddenly very concerned that she wouldn’t like it.

His heart started to return to normal as they watched and the room echoed with the peals of her laughter. Afterwards she shared with him what her favorite bits were (for the record, they were him doing a silly walk as he left in the cafeteria scene, and Steve).

“Gosh, I miss your curls,” Vicky said as she turned on her side and reached over to tickle the front of his hair with three fingers before dropping her hand to the bed.

Tom smiled softly, also turning on his side to face her. “They aren’t all gone. Don’t think they’ll ever be, until I go bald.”

Her fingers moved down to tickle him under the chin. “And that scruff was nice.”

“Can’t have Loki with a ginger beard right now, can I?” He teased.

“I am not saying you don’t look nice now. Just take a compliment, Thomas.”

“Oooh, Nike, you do know how I like it when you use my full name.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re full of it. Careful, or your eyes will turn brown.”

“Then they will match the loveliness of yours,” he replied with a hint of suggestiveness. He said it for comedic effect, and he reached his goal when she tilted her head back and laughed. He resisted letting his mind wander at seeing her exposed, caramel neck , wanting to avoid thinking about what it’d feel like under his lips.

He saw the skin tighten around her eyes as her mirth settled, and her smile was slightly strained. There were times when he swore he could hear what she was thinking, or maybe he just knew her so well that he could take an educated guess. In any case, the thought he had earlier, and held in reserve, was the same one he was having now. That she was thinking about going home alone, and having a repeat of the previous night.

He walked his left hand across the bed to her right hand that had been teasing his hair, without turning their hands over. The tips of his fingers settled at the the second joint of her fingers, while his thumb rubbed her thumb.

“I have it on fairly good authority that you have not watched The Avengers.” Tom’s tone was teasing, as was the accompanying grin.

“Emma,” she replied.

“My sister did indeed out you.”

Vicky gave his fingers a squeeze before flinging herself back on the pillows in a silent-screen-starlet manner, arm draped dramatically across her forehead. “Oh, whatever shall I do to fix this problem?”

Tom waited until she looked at him again before speaking. “I have a copy; why don’t we watch it?” She agreed. “When the movie is over, it is going to be very late. Why don’t you just stay the night?” She agreed to that as well.

He ran downstairs to grab the disc, and when he came back she was snuggled under the covers, a silly grin on her face.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I snagged one of your shirts.” She bit her lip to hold back a giggle, but it couldn’t hold back her smile. He had to take a deep breath and hold back a moan. Now is not the time, Tom.

“Nike, take whatever you like. Which one are stealing this time?” She lowered the covers to reveal his “I Do What I Want” Loki shirt. “Very appropriate.”

Tom changed as well before joining her under the covers. There was no discussion of her taking the guestroom when the film was done. Her aversion to being alone right now extended to her sleeping alone. He didn’t need to be told, he just knew.

Vicky fell asleep sometime between Agent Coulson being killed (she got misty-eyed at that) and Tony Stark distracting Loki. He let the movie finish, in case she woke back up. Once through he got up and turned off the lights before leaving the room and double checking every lock. Just in case. He returned to bed, quiet as could be, and slipped back under the blankets. He stayed awake on his back for a little bit, wondering how he could help Vicky feel, and be, safe inside her own home. If she spent too many nights at his house he knew Ramses would not be pleased. It was also her home. She fell in love with the place; she deserved to have it be a happy place for her.

As he went over ideas in his head, Vicky rolled over in her sleep until she was pressed against his side. One of her lovely light brown arms snaked across his chest as her face burrowed in between his neck and shoulder. He nearly laughed to himself until he felt a bare leg glide over his. She had not “stolen” any pyjama bottoms from him.

This woman was going to be the death of him.

He brushed his lips across her forehead, taking in that flowery-cinnamon scent of hers. “Sleep well, my love.” Then he turned on his side and pulled her close to him, tucking her head under his chin. Vicky let out a little sigh and moved her leg to hook over his thighs. Tom just smiled and went to sleep.

* * *

Vicky started fumbling around, trying to find the alarm and shut it off. Sleep, she wanted sleep. So warm. No wakey.

“Shh, sorry,” a deep voiced cooed to her as the alarm fell silent, the speaker’s hand gently wrapped around the wrist of her flailing arm. “My alarm to go running, I forgot to turn it off. Go back to sleep.”

Those were not instructions she was going to argue about. She snuggled into the warm wall in front of her. Before she slipped back into unconsciousness she felt an arm slide under her body and another slide over her, bringing her closer to the warm wall. It was nice.

* * *

It wasn’t bright and sunny, thanks to the water-laden clouds that were dripping their contents over much of London and its surrounding area. So it wasn’t the sun that woke her up. The room was actually nice and quiet, accompanied by the lovely background noise of showers to set the day for a lazy mood. Lazy was a good goal for the day. And Tom’s bed was ridiculously comfortable.

No, what woke her up was the noise travelling up the stairs. The warm bed called to her to stay in it, but fuzzy brain logic and curiosity won out.

The room was cold, and she cursed when she exposed her bare legs from under the covers. On wobbly legs she got up and grabbed her jeans, slipping them on before making her way downstairs. She heard Tom’s voice, and thought he might have been singing. The stairs from Tom’s room led right down into the kitchen. If it was singing, it wouldn’t be hard to heard him. Especially if he was off key.

Tom wasn’t in the kitchen, but a covered plate of food was there. She took a peek under the lid. Bless the man and his culinary skills. Many times Vicky didn’t enjoy being spoiled. Well, she did and didn’t. When people got her overly fancy things as gifts, regardless of the occasion, she always felt as if she didn’t deserve them. Or when they went and turned a room in her new home into a little art studio. Why would someone do that for her? However, when people gave her the gift of food or drink, she was always more than happy to accept it.

Especially when they made one of her favorite breakfasts: thin pancakes, smothered in butter and syrup, with bacon. Looking around the kitchen Vicky quickly found a cup of coffee waiting for her. It looked to be made just the way she liked it. A quick sip confirmed it.

The food (glorious food) and coffee distracted her from the voices she had heard earlier. Unable to wait, she grabbed a fork and cut out a little triangular slice of the pancakes. Perfect; it was absolutely perfect. Vicky savored it as she picked up her coffee and walked out of the kitchen to the little breakfast area.

She stopped in her tracks mid-bite as she looked at the table. Man, was she glad she had put on her jeans. She was also glad the room down here was warm, because flashing her headlights at a stranger would have been awkward.

“Uh,” she started, and then stopped, remembering she had food in her mouth and promptly closing it.

Tom sat in front of a man with neatly combed brownish hair and narrow-shaped blue eyes. He looked familiar, no doubt a friend of Tom's. She might have met him a few years ago. That didn’t seem right, though.

"Vicky!" Tom grinned from ear to ear as he stood up and took her plate and coffee, setting them right next to his empty plate. The stranger stood up as well, much like her own brother had been taught to do when a woman entered a room. "Glad to see you're up. I was hoping to catch you before I left. Oh, pardon me." He turned to the man. "Benedict, this is Vicky; Vicky this is my friend Benedict."

Benedict came around from where he was standing and held out his hand to her. "Pleasure to finally meet you," he said in a deep baritone voice.

Her food was quickly swallowed and she gave him a close-lipped smile, in case there was food stuck in her teeth. Also morning breath. "Nice to meet you, too, but whatever Tom has told you is a lie," she replied as she shook his hand. The hint of cigarette smoke lingered around him; it made her nose twitch.

He chuckled, "I highly doubt that."

“Here, have a seat,” Tom interjected as he pulled out her seat. It made Vicky wonder what he had told Benedict about her.

She sat, and the men took their seats again. The three of them talked amicably. Tom was going to leave soon for the studio. Which left Vicky in a dilemma. Home wasn’t feeling very homey right now. Maybe if she called someone they’d meet her there, or she could run home, get changed and spend the day at Aunt Millie's.

That sounded like a plan. Hiding from your problems always did. Except this wasn’t really her problem. She hadn’t asked to have someone follow her home last night. Vicky couldn’t even fathom how she could have “created” the situation to begin with. Was the person someone she had randomly made eye contact with? Was it a clerk she had chatted with in a store? Someone from she knew from filming?

Thinking about it made her head hurt. She decided her best course of action was to concentrate on her food (oh my god, so fucking good) and the chit-chat (Vicky was 80% sure that she seen Benedict - Ben for short - in a movie or on TV. 80% sure.) that she left mostly to the guys as she stuffed her face.

Tom’s house intercom buzzed and he got up to let the driver in through the gate. When he came back he had his satchel and jacket. Ben was also getting up and gathering his things. “That’s for me. Vicky, I left a copy of my house key upstairs for you, along with the alarm code. I will talk to you later.”

In a very domestic sort of move, Tom came to kiss the edge of her mouth, then her forehead, and wished her good day before saying goodbye to Ben and rushing out the door. Ben looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and she started to blush at the near-stranger’s unspoken question.

She took a sip of her now-lukewarm coffee before clearing her throat. “Tom and I have known each other for years.” Another long sip of her coffee seemed keep him from trying to ask, verbally or nonverbally, any more questions.

“Right, I will be off,” Benedict said after an appropriate time of awkwardness. “Tom, uh, mentioned that, uh...” He seemed unable to voice what he wanted to say.

She decided to do it for him. “Tom said that I had a prowler outside my home, right?”

He gave her a kind smile. “That’s it. I know we just met, but if you like I could drive you home, make sure everything is all right.”

Another sip of coffee as she mulled it over. She didn’t really know him, aside from the niggling feeling that she’d seen him on TV or something. Her plan was never to hide out at Tom’s. Despite it being daytime, she wasn’t all that up for walking home alone. And surely Tom wouldn't introduce her to someone untrustworthy.

“That would be nice,” she finally replied. “Let me just get ready real quick.”

He nodded, “Yes. I’ll clear the dishes while you do that.”

Vicky smiled at that, excused herself and went back upstairs. She switched Tom's shirt for the top she had worn last night, but not before spraying it with a squirt bottle from his bathroom and shaking out the wrinkles. After a quick brush of her hair and some mouthwash she was ready to go. Her phone, when she picked it up, had several missed calls and text messages. All from Henry checking on her.

She shot him a quick message, apologizing for missing his calls and saying she had bunked with a friend last night. That she was on her way home.

He replied right away asking to come over; she agreed and then went downstairs. When she entered the kitchen, she saw Ben had kept to his word and the dishes were rinsed, in the sink. The man met her by the front door, where her purse and shoes were. Using the key and code Tom had just given her, she locked up.

Benedict drove a Jaguar, different model from Tom's, but just as nice. Aside from her giving him directions to her home, they didn't really talk. The short and rainy ride didn't really allow for much more.

"If you like - " he started to say as he pulled in front of her house.

Henry's car was parked in front of her home. He got out of his car, opening an umbrella as he did so, and gave them a wave with some papers in his hands as he went to wait by the garden gate for her.

"Thanks for the lift," Vicky said as she pulled her keys out from her purse.

"My pleasure," he replied.

"And it was nice meeting you," she added.

"Likewise."

She gave him one last smile before running to join Henry under his umbrella and walking with him to open her door. Ben stayed until they were inside before driving off.

A thought occurred to her as she was locking the door. Henry was taking off his shoes and trying not to drop the literature - for alarms, it appeared. He became startled when she gasped.

"What, what is wrong?" Henry leaned over, nearly falling as he tried to take his shoes off and look out her front window, where her eyes were drawn.

Vicky felt her cheeks tinge pink from the realization. “Sherlock Holmes just drove me home.”


	16. Chapter 16

 

Vicky was looking over rushes from Friday. She was making sure the proper references needed were caught when there was knocking on the door of the trailer (Tom's) she had commandeered.

Stopping the tape she opened the door to find Gemma standing there, looking rather nervous. She still had the sniffles but was in much better health.

"What happened?" Vicky asked, worried that someone had totally botched something important.

Gemma licked lips. "First of all, Victoria Alonso just arrived on set."

Vicky sighed in relief. Victoria wasn't scary, she was actually inspiring. The woman was also the top of the VFX food chain for Marvel Studios. The few times that she actually spoke to her, they got along real well.

"You look like you have more to add." Vicky noticed that her assistant still looked nervous.

"Ken Dailey is at DNeg and he didn't sound happy on the phone when he called and asked that you come in. Now."

Fuck. "Great. Mind driving me? I don't think I want to have a mental freak out on a train."

"Of course," Gemma beamed.

Vicky gathered her crap from Tom's trailer, found a PA to take back the rushes, then went to find Tom. He was in between takes, chatting with Natalie in their chairs.

"Come to see me punch Tom?" Natalie smiled as she approached.

"Damn, that's today?" Vicky cursed. "Just be careful not to cut your fists on those cheekbones."

Tom laughed, sitting there in his full Loki get up. "Will you nurse me if she knocks me out cold?"

Natalie scoffed at the idea. "I don't think that's even possible."

"If she does, just make sure I get a copy of the tape. I will unfortunately be missing it."

Tom sat up straighter in his chair. "Why? What is going on, love?"

Vicky sighed and rubbed her temple. "I am being summoned back to the studio. My ass is about to get chewed a new one, and I'm not entirely sure why."

Natalie let out a little gasp. Tom stood up from his seat, his fists started to clench at his sides. "What? That doesn't make sense. Victoria was just singing your praises."

Despite the good news, which would have made her blush, her worry for what was going to happen later outweighed it. Instead focused on the gold arch like shape on the chest of his costume. She reached up and traced the bottom curve. "I don't know, but if you see a guy named Ken on set more often...well I'd probably on my way back to the States as my visa will have been voided."

"I'm sure it's not going to be that bad," Natalie tried to reassure her. Vicky thanked her, but was still imagining the worst case scenario.

"It'll be fine, I'm sure." Tom put his hands on her upper arms, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

She gave Natalie and Tom a watery smile, her thumb giving the cool metal on last brush. "Thanks. I better be going, but I just came over to let you know I wouldn't be needing a ride. I'll see you later."

She gave Tom a kiss on the cheek and said farewell to Natalie.

His co-star gave him a look as he sat back down. He raised a dark painted eyebrow in return.

"Remind me why you two aren't dating," she asked.

* * *

The meeting with Ken wasn't so much as bad as it was embarrassing.

None of it was her fault. None of it was her fucking fault. She gave these people no direction to do this. Unless she was doing criminal activity, her personal life should not be impacting her professional life like this.

"It’s beyond idiotic," Vicky railed to Gemma as they drove back to Vicky's home. There was no way she could go back to set and be calm. "UGH! Who does something like that anyway? Who sends a place of business a letter saying its 'smears the company name' because they were spotted being friends with, well, their friend?!"

"I know you talk on set, but I didn't even realize you were that close," Gemma admitted. "Or even dating."

Vicky wasn’t sure if she should laughed or scoff. The face she made must have reflected that, because her assistant looked at her funny. "We _aren't_ dating. Trust me. Just friends."

"I don't think that some people agree. Though I also don't think that if they knew you were dating Henry they'd paint you in a positive light while you were stepping out with Tom."

If she had been driving, the car would have swerved, possibly crashed. As it was Vicky was having a hard enough time processing what she just heard. Gemma knew Henry by name only, and usually just in passing. How she went from that to dating, she wasn’t entirely sure.

"Also not dating him."

"Wait, you've got two blokes, who fancy you, and you aren't dating either of them?"

Why all these questions from left field? "I _never_ said they fancied me. That's a bit egotistical of me and too romcom. I'm good with having the only man in my life being my cat. I am working on my biggest project to date, my position on which was seriously jeopardize today because of my nonexistent romantic life with one of those ‘blokes’."

Gemma's cheeks turned pink and kept her gaze straight ahead.

With a groan, she rested her head against the headrest. "I'm sorry, Gemma. That was out of line. Way out of line. This whole thing has got my hackles up. I'm sorry. "

"It’s alright, I understand." They exchanged smiles.

"I'll tell you honestly, though, I might fancy one of them, or eventually I may end up developing feelings for one. Not now though, I'm not emotionally ready."

They giggled over it but for the rest of the ride they were quiet.

Vicky apologized again when Gemma dropped her off.

As she walked up the small brick path to her door she spotted a small, white, round vase with pretty pink flowers in it. Quickly she opened the door, picked up the flowers, and locked her door. She peeked out the front window, no one was watching.

She put the vase on her kitchen counter and plucked the card hidden in the leaves.

_Camellias for you._

That was all it said. No indication who it was from. "Thanks...person," she spoke out loud to her empty house. Though they were probably from Tom, considering he knew that she left the upset today. Possibly even Natalie, which would set her inner fangirl into a tizzy.

She dumped the rest of her things on the table and went to the kitchen. It was wine and bath time, regardless of the time of day. After she poured herself a glass of white wine, she snagged her phone from the table and went upstairs.

Vicky wasn’t sure if she ever had as many bubbles in her bath as she did now. At least not since she was a kid. While she soaked she listened to the audiobook version of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone._ Despite being a full grown adult it didn't stop her from making a bubble-beard anytime Dumbledore and Hagrid came on, imitating them.

Anything to get mind off her meeting.

_She had walked in, fully prepared to be lambasted by a superior. Saying that this was too much too soon for her to be in her current position, that they had been over confident in her abilities and were going to give her duties to someone else while she played a secondary role._

_She was not prepared for her boss, a person from PR, and a person from HR being there._

_It made her briefly wonder if she let something slip from the production. Had she unintentionally let something leak?_

_No. By the end she was almost wishing that was the case._

_Sometime Monday night, someone - the only name given had been “Concerned Audience Member” - had emailed the HR department with links to several gossip articles with pictures of her and Tom, all from when he took her to a play and film screening. The articles were scathing in regards to her. They mentioned her unattractiveness (level varied by article), her weight, and that she must have been a brown noser as at least three of them indicated that she worked for a VFX company on set. They said she was trying to sleep her way up the ladder._

_This “Concerned Audience Member” was worried about the reputation of the company, and how they could employ someone with such loose morals and work ethic was a smear on Double Negative’s name, surely._

_Ken said he had explained to both their PR and HR he was aware that Vicky and Tom (Mr. Hiddleston as he kept referring to him) were friends and that he knew there was no ill conduct going on._

_The HR person explained that this letter was the only one of its kind, and that was why she brought it to her higher ups and Ken’s attention. The PR person reassured everyone that Vicky’s name had not been specifically linked in the articles to their company but that if Vicky could “please keep her public relationships with the actors to a minimum outside of work, until further notice” that would be great. It hadn’t been spoken to her, but rather Ken._

_She had sat there, very quiet. Only speaking when needed, lest she started shouting. Ken at least look sympathetic towards her as the meeting progressed. The other two looked as if they at least partially believed the gossip articles._

_When it was over, she left as calmly as she could after she apologized and thanked them for their time. Ken told her he’d talk to her later._

_Very calmly she had called the people on set, and in house, that need to know that she was taking the rest of the day off and had asked Gemma to drive her home._

She sank down into the tub, irritated once again, so that the water came up just under her nose, washing away a Hagrid bubble-beard. Here she thought things were going to be good this week after Saturday night. Sunday wasn’t bad, Monday was great. She and Henry had gone over different alarm systems, he tricked her into agreeing to let him buy it for her, then spent the rest of the day in SoHo just walking around.

There they had met a person with an amazing dog. It had looked almost like a wolf. Henry had joked that he’d get her one of that breed to help protect her. She had playfully accepted before she asked if she could also have one of those cats that looked like they just walked off the Serengeti.

Then today happened and she wanted to smash something.

Her fingers twitched under the water. Deciding it was time to get out she pulled the drain plug and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself as she exited the tub. Turning off the audiobook on her phone, she went to her room to get dry. With her hair still haphazardly clipped up and damp from her bath, she dressed in an old pair of sweatpants, an old slightly oversized college sweater, and some fuzzy red socks. She was toasty warm, even if she was a walking fashion disaster. A quick jaunt downstairs to double check all her locks and to grab a couple of beers (oh god she was going to be buzzed - as it always happened when she mixed beer and wine) then she was back upstairs, into her little art studio.

She got out her paints, set up her easel and canvas over a tarp, and turned on her “Ride Into Battle” playlist that she made for when she was angry or needed an extra push while running.

Vicky started with a paint brush in her hand, but as time slipped by she opted for just using her fingers. Paint wasn’t really her medium, preferring to draw and sketch things that were defined shapes and people. However, she loved to use paint when she was angry. There were no take backs, not really, no pencil lines to erase or line art to fill in on a computer. Most of the time she tried to have her paintings be of something. Often, though, they were abstract and the colors told the story of her mood that she wasn’t able to express in words. The one she worked on now was a combination of both.

When she was done, both beers gone, starting to feel the buzz, she admired her work.

It was slightly Hellish looking. Blacks and reds were dominant, but there also blues and greens woven through out. It looked like a distorted sunset.

Looking at it helped her make a decision: she’d be careful making sure she did nothing to damage Double Negative's name while in public, but no fuckwad coward emailing anonymously was going to dictate her personal life.

Satisfied, she took a deep breath and went to wash her hands.

As she was trying to get the paint out from under her nails the doorbell rang. Not caring that her clothes were covered in an array of colors she padded downstairs, looked out the peephole and then opened her door.

“Hi!” she greeted Henry brightly.

He raised a dark eyebrow. “I know it had been raining recently, but I think I missed the forecast on the rainbow showers.”

She stepped aside to let him in. “I know, it’s all over my clothes. Its okay, as you can see these aren’t exactly my best. What are you doing here, by the way?”

“And your face,” he replied by placing his hand on her cheek and using his thumb to wipe away a splatter of green off cheekbone, near her nose. “I came by because I forgot you were supposed to be a work at this hour, only remembered that when I got here, but then I heard loud music. Thought that meant you might be home.”

A small smile touched her lips as he pulled his hand away. “I was painting upstairs.”

“Are you done now?” Henry asked, concern graced his eyebrows.

“Yeah, let me go change before I forget I’m covered in paint and get it all over you. Make yourself comfortable.” Vicky started to go upstairs when Henry stopped her.

“May I see it, your painting?”

She thought about it for a moment before answering, “Uh, sure.” It wasn’t intimate like her sketch journals were. After she showed him to her little studio, finally turning off her music, she went to her bedroom and changed into a pair of skinny jeans, a blue knitted sweater dress (okay it was supposed to be a tunic length sweater but it was a dress on her) and grabbed a pair of ankle boots in case she they went out.

“What do you think?” she asked as she poked her head into her art room, twisting her hand that held the boots so they appeared to spin.

“Its passionate, angry feeling but has just a touch of sadness. How much are you going to sell it for?” His focus was still on the painting as he spoke.

Vicky shrugged, even though he wasn’t looking at her. “I don’t know. I was probably going to give it away. Or hide it. I have a whole bunch stored in my parent’s attic - I couldn’t bring them all here or throw them away.”

He finally turned around, smiling. “You should sell it.”

She scoffed at the idea. “Yeah, let me go down the local gallery here and see if they’ll take one painting from an unknown. No, that’s all right. I’ll see if someone wants it, if not I’ll find somewhere to store it.”

“I’ll take it,” Henry offered.

“What?”

“I’ll take it,” Henry repeated and gave her a serious look.

A little shocked Vicky replied, “Sure, I just need to put on the soft gel and then the varnish to finish it off, it should be ready in two to three days.”

“Wonderful.” To his credit he actually looked really excited.

She eyed him for a moment before leaving the room and going downstairs, dropping her shoes near the front door, Henry following her. Spying her work stuff on her kitchen table made her remember why she was home during work hours. Her shoulders slumped and she groaned, then she righted herself remembering that she wasn’t going to let today’s events get to her.

She needed a hug.

Flopping down on her battered sofa (on her list of things she need to save for and buy) she gave Henry a pitiful look.

Henry thought that look should be illegal. Heaven help her if she had children and they inherited the ability to give that look. Their father would be unable to say no.

“Can I ask you a favor?” she asked, the look still upon her face.

_You can ask for the Moon and I will get it for you._ “Yes, of course.”

“I haven’t had the best day, can I get a hug?”

He told her that she never needed to ask for one but he was more than happy to wrap her up in his arms. He sat next to her and did just that, pulling her into his lap. The closer, the better.

“Did you have another incident?” he asked, referring to her would be stalker.

She shook her head. “No, nothing else, thankfully. Just work. I am going to be so happy when filming is over.”

One of his hands began to rub her neck gently. “Stress at work?”

“Something like that. We’re going to be wrapping up in a month or so. I just hope that whatever the problem is right now will be gone by then.”

His fingers started to knead a little harder. “Let’s take your mind off it for a little bit.”

“How are you planning - oh my god, that feels so fucking wonderful,” she practically purred as Henry’s fingers worked her neck and shoulders.

Ramses chose that moment to come in and investigate. He seemed to side-eye Henry before settling before the cold fireplace and watching the man, carefully.

“Your cat is a bit possessive, isn’t he?”

With her eyes closed she replied, “Mmm, yeah. Sometimes. Never liked my ex. To be fair, Ramses usually has good instinct about people.”

Ramses’ red eyes pinned Henry down. “Must be a cat thing,” Henry mumbled, determined not to look at her creepy cat. He could never tell if the cat liked him or not. One day he was all over Henry, the next day he’d looked ready to tear at his face.

No reply came from Vicky as she had gone quiet and still. “You haven’t fallen asleep, have you?”

“Nope,” Vicky replied with a pop of her “p”. “Just slowly turning into jelly. If I turn completely into a liquid, just mop me up.”

“Then I guess it’s a good time to ask you something,” Henry spoke softly into her ear.

“As long as it doesn’t involve me killing someone, I may just say yes,” Vicky purred, eyes still close.

Henry chuckled and moved his hand to her shoulder. “No, no one needs to be killed. I was just wondering if after New Year’s you’d accompany me to the Critics’ Choice Movie Awards.” He felt a muscle tighten in her shoulder.

“Would that involve a red carpet and cameras?”

“Yes.”

“It’s going to have to be a no then.” She shrugged off his massaging handing to look at him. Whoa. Those blue eyes were close. “Part of the reason I have problems at work right now are my apparent public appearances with celebrities. I’d love to go, and thank you for asking, but I think until at least filming is over I need to lay low, stay out of the spotlight a bit.”

His eyebrows scrunched together. “Are you a visual effects producer or a Hollywood starlet?”

“Right now I am not sure.” Her eyes dipped down to his lips and chin. It was funny, if he was clean shaven his cleft wasn’t all that visible. Let two days growth come in and it was right there. It was as nearly as distracting as that freckle on his lip.

“M’rrrow!” Ramses cried as he jumped between them and bopped Vicky on her nose.

She laughed, thankful for the distraction, and got up from Henry’s lap. “Ignored you for too long, huh?” When she looked at Henry she saw that he was glowering at Ramses. “Oh, don’t be so upset. He probably can see the bottom of his dish.” Vicky disentangled herself Henry’s arms, which were still around her legs, and walked to the kitchen and pulled down the cat food container from atop her fridge.

Ramses paced in front of his dish, near the back doors, calling out to her as if to say “Hurry up!”

“Is that why you’re home early?” Henry asked as he followed her into the kitchen.

“Why is what?” Vicky poured a little bit more food into her cat’s bowl. Ramses rubbed against her legs a few times in thanks before eating.

“Your questionability on being a starlet or vfx producer,” Henry replied as he followed her back by the refrigerator as she put the cat food back.

Vicky took a deep breath before answering him. “Yeah, someone sent an email complaining about me being chummy with actors outside of work. That I was going to drag down the studio’s name. It has just left a sour taste in my mouth for the rest of the day. That’s why I was painting. It was better than donning my armor and riding my chariot to find the coward.”

He leaned against the fridge, crossing his muscled arms across his chest. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. You know, instead of getting your hands dirty you could always have a knight fight for you. Show them how idiotic they are being.”

The laugh that came out partially as a snort through her nose was enough to wipe off the growing smirk from Henry’s face. “That’s okay. Knight in shining armor need not apply. I just got to stay away from parties with paps and the like.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “Well, if you need help, you’ll let me know right?”

“Of course.”

Neither was sure what to say after that and a small silence fell between them.

“Hungry?” Vicky asked with a cheerful smile, trying to break the awkwardness and change the subject. She opened the fridge door, which Henry moved away from to allow her to do so. It was promptly closed when she saw what was inside. “How about we eat out or order in?”

Henry quirked his eyebrows. “I’m sure whatever you have is fine.”

She let out a nervous little laugh. “That’s the thing. Unless you wish your meal to only consist of beer and scrambled eggs, I think you might be disappointed.”

He opened the door from his side and peered around it to see inside. “How is there practically nothing in there? How are you surviving?”

“Uh, doggie bags from craft services and friends that love to try out new recipes.” She looked sheepish and very small. Since he had met her it had never really registered with him that she was so much shorter than him until that moment.

“You’ve been taking home food from craft services?”

Her dark eyes dared to meet his. “Yeah. You treat them right and they’ll hook you up. I mean, it comes in handy when you’re living on a budget of a U.S. college student, more or less. It’s what I get for paying a mortgage and paying off the last of my student loans. And saving for Christmas presents - oh my gosh I need to get Christmas presents. And I haven’t decorated either!”

Gently he put his hands on her shoulders. “First let’s get you, and your refrigerator, some food. I know you won’t allow me to talk sense into people at your work, but will you allow me to at least fill your cupboards with food?”

She looked as if her eyes might water. “That has to be one of the sweetest things anyone has ever asked me. Okay,” she conceded. “Just this once. Next month money will be good again - one student loan down - I’ll be good. I would be nice to finish this month with food in my house.”

* * *

“How’d we get all this food in your car?” Vicky asked as they started to unload his Aston, which she thought was hilarious that they took it to the grocery store. “I haven’t seen this food much for one household since Amy’s _quinceañera_ , but to be honest that still had more food.”

Henry had several bags on each arm as he followed behind her into the house. “Keen-san-what?”

“ _Quinceañera._ Long and short of it is big celebration for a young Latina’s fifteenth birthday. It actually dates back from about the Aztec times.” Vicky walked into the kitchen and put her grocery bags on the counter.

He laughed, “Where I come from we usually just call it a birthday party.” Vicky gave him a look. “Did you have one?”

She shook her head and walked past him to go back out to his car. “No, but I was in Amy’s court so it was okay. I don’t think I could handle all that attention. At the time I was also pretty much against wearing dresses, so for me it was a trail enough to wear one for her.”

“I bet I would have had a little teenage crush on you if I knew you then,” Henry grinned, trying to steer the topic away from the keen-sen-whatever. Maybe he’d ask her to explain it more, later.

Vicky couldn’t hide the rolling eyes if she tried. “Right, yes. I’m sure you would have found cubby fourteen-year-old version of me very attractive. I was, nor have I ever really been, one to turn anyone’s head. And at fourteen I was no exception. I will admit I have at least improved some since then.”

Dark curls bounced on his head as he shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’ll have you know I did not always look like this.”

She laced her arms through eight bags, four for each arm, and gave him a look. “What? Stacked with two percent body fat? Okay, I’ll let you have that but I watched _The Tudors_.”

Henry groaned as he tilted his head back. “You watched it?”

“Yes, don’t act so mortified. You were excellent, and you have a nice ass.” She couldn’t believe that she said that last bit, her face turned red. The only saving grace for her was that she was walking in front of Henry towards the house. He wouldn’t be able to see just how much she resembled a tomato.

“You’ve admired my arse?” Henry teased, which made her cheeks grow redder.

It was her fault and she knew she was going to pay for it. “Yes, I admired your ass. I also admired Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ ass and several other men’s on that show.” She couldn’t see it, but he actually pouted.

Food was stored away and Vicky no longer felt like Old Mother Hubbard. Henry learned the layout of her kitchen, where she stored her pots and pans, her spices and such, as he set out to make his favorite carbonara recipe for them.

Vicky was more than happily sat at her kitchen table and watched him putt around her kitchen. “I need to get me one of you,” she joked as he put the pasta into the boiling water.

“A handsome man to cook for you?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. Her responding laughter caused a warmth to spread through his chest, as it usually did.

“I was thinking along the lines of a professional chef. I suppose a handsome man willing to cook for me wouldn’t be too bad. Know where I can find one?”

His free hand that wasn’t stirring the spaghetti pasta went to cover his heart. “You wound me, cut me to the core. You’re like Aset taking the piss out of Set.”

“Ass and who?”

“Aset, or Isis, and Set or Seth from Egyptian mythology,” Henry quickly explained.

“Yeah...I’m not all that familiar with Egyptian mythology, quiz me on Greek myths any day and I’ll stomp all over you.”

Henry smiled at her and went back to cooking her dinner. Until that moment he wasn’t sure what to get her for Christmas, and now he had an idea. Well, three ideas.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brand new, never seen before! It also has smut and bumps up the rating to Mature. If you want to avoid it, you can easily see it coming and skip it or wait for the next chapter.

The next day, Tuesday, Vicky made her twitter account private. She had tweeted a picture of herself innocently enough with the caption: “I think the cold is finally growing on me!” She was bundled from head to toe on set, not that you could see any of it in her picture. Didn’t mind one bit being covered in layers, and sure she might be wearing a few extra compared to the locals, but she liked it and actually thought she looked cute.

What was not cute, however, were the replies she got to her tweet. “That’s because you have extra layers of fat on.” To which someone replied, “Right?! Just stay away from Tom, you brown cow.” Another person wrote; “Does that mean you’re outside freezing to death?” To which someone else replied, “Be nice! Maybe she’s lost some weight and is able to feel the cold now.”

There were more nasty, high school level replies and comments to her tweet. More than she ever expected. She went through her follower list, which had grown recently but originally she attributed it to spam accounts, and blocked those she felt thought were going to be malicious towards her. She also went back and blocked all those making nasty comment about her weight or telling her to stay away from Tom.

To say the least, the rest of the week didn’t go much better for Vicky in the social media spectrum. She had to super hide her Facebook account, she also went back and deleted her MySpace account because she kept getting alerts about someone writing on her page.

Luckily no one thought to bother her LinkedIn, and it seemed no one had her private email so her Google+ was safe.

By the end of the week all her accounts had their passwords changed and the ability to view them by outsiders restricted.

Saturday was spent shopping, getting all the gifts she had been meaning to buy. Sunday was wrapping and Henry dropping by, bringing a small surprise in the form of a Christmas tree and Luke Evans to decorate her home. Or, rather, have Luke help Henry decorate. (Despite Vicky asking if Luke wouldn’t mind being a Christmas decoration, for just one day.) The two men decorated her modest abode and made it feel a little more festive than the bare bones it normally was.

By the end of the night on the 23rd her house was decorated, presents wrapped and her belly stuffed as Luke ordered Italian for them.

Most of Monday, Christmas Eve, went by in a flash. She still had to work that day, but it was a half day, or as half day as you could get on a film set. Her parents, brother and his girlfriend were flying in that morning, as was her grandfather - if his health held up.

This year Aunt Millie had opted for a smaller (a - no pun intended - relative word) family gathering, instead of the big one she usually held outside of the city. It was going to be held at her larger, London home. Not the one Vicky had boarded at, but her larger home in Richmond with twice the rooms of her Chelsea house. Vicky was curious and wanted to ask if her aunt had other homes, but was scared she’d have a castle, or two, hidden away along with a secret kingdom.

Basically she was worried Aunt Millie would turn out to be the Dowager Queen of Genovia.

In any case, Millie was having Vicky’s family for Christmas, as well as Tom’s, including his sister Sarah, her husband, and their little girl all the way over from India.

“Are you sure you got everything?” Tom asked as he loaded her bags into the boot of his Jag.

“Yes, Thomas.”

A chill must have caught Tom because he gave his shoulders a little shake. “Do you, uh, have all needed toiletries and clothes? Do you need an extra pair of gloves?”

She repressed the urge to roll her eyes and instead sighed. “Yes, sir, I’ve got everything. If we’re all loaded up, let’s get in your car so I can turn the butt warmers on.”

Another chill must have found its way down Tom’s collar because he gave his torso a little shake, along with a muttered curse under his breath. “I’d hate to keep a lady waiting.”

He shut the boot, ran to open Vicky’s door for her, close it for her, and then to his door and quickly started the car. Vicky was ready and waiting for the car to start. As soon as the car gave a sign of life she hit the seat warmer button and then buckled herself up.

Smiling he mused, “I see you’ve got your priorities in order.”

“Hell yeah,” she replied as she rubbed a gloved hand on her leg and then adjusted the climate controls for her side of the car. Bless the person who came up with dual climate controls in cars. “There will be no freezing of this hiney nor the person attached to it.”

“It would be a shame to see something happen to such a lovely ‘hiney’ as yours,” Tom commented with a grin as he pulled away from her house.

Vicky snuggled down into her seat, which blissfully heated up quickly, and more or less zoned out for the ride to Millie’s very large, 12 bedroom home. She had made the mistake of calling it an estate and MIllie had promptly corrected her. “It's not an estate, my dear. People are still arguing if it's a semi-attached or detached residence. I could have gone bigger, but then I’d be out in the middle of nowhere. I always like to be near somewhere, this was the next logical choice.”

If Millie had gone bigger, Vicky decided upon their arrival, then she could have only upgraded to a palace. This was surely the biggest place she’d seen. It had its own private driveway and parking, so no fighting with the neighbors on where to park. There was a nice, big green park nearby and the Thames was just down the street. It was old, how old Vicky wasn’t sure but she loved knowing that there was a history.

She just hoped there weren’t any ghost to go along with the place.

Though the possibility Mille was queen of a micro-kingdom still lingered in her mind.

Someone must have kept an eye on the front gate because several people came ambling out of the house when they parked. Vicky spotted her dad and brother, along with Tom’s brother-in-law, Jay. She had never met him, having only seeing pictures. She greeted her dad and brother with hugs and kisses, while Tom shook hands with Jay and they gave each other a “manly” one-arm-but-no-touching hug.

If one was to go on looks alone, one could say Sarah was a very lucky woman. Her husband looked a great deal like Mohindir from _Heroes._ He was very smart, Vicky had heard (and didn’t doubt the sources), and while Sarah reported on the misconduct of India’s workers, exposing their employers, Jay fought to improve their treatment.

Their relatives helped them unload and take their things inside. To say that Vicky’s breath was taken away when she walked into her aunt’s home would be an understatement. She was sure she garnered a few looks from those helping them.

“You are not wrong, love,” Tom quietly said into her ear, proving her thought correct.

It turned out Heather, Braeden’s girlfriend, had a family thing come up and wasn’t able to come with him. Opa Marius’ wasn’t up to par, his doctors had more or less said, and he had stayed behind to opting to spend the holiday with other family members.

The room Vicky was given was decorated elegantly. Nothing less was expected from Millie. It wasn’t something she would have ever chosen for herself, but it did make her feel like a princess. It was on the second floor, the only two other rooms on that floor being her brother’s and Tom’s. The floor below them housed her parents, Diana, Aunt Millie, Sarah and Jay, and Emma and Jack. The floor above them had two unfinished rooms and another family room.

It was a good thing Aunt Millie’s house was so big, they would surely need it.

Tom knocked on her doorframe before coming in as she took a dress out from her garment bag. “I just want to let you know that I think you have the largest room. Entirely unfair.”

Vicky shrugged, a mocking smirk on her lips. “What can I say, I am Millie’s favorite. One of the perks I suppose.”

“Favoritism shown to you is not exclusive to just Millie,” he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes as she hung her dress up in the wardrobe. “Yes, I know, it's not fair that Ramses likes me more than you.”

“Not what I was referring to, but moving on.”

He joked with her as she unpacked. She confessed to him her making her accounts private and why.

He frowned, making the crease between his eyebrows deepen.  “I don't like that these people bullied you or dared to speak to you this way.”

“Not much you can do about it, Tom. If you said anything it would only make it worse. Besides I have it handled.” Vicky walked over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for wanting to do something.”

Tom's blue eyes were bright as smiled at her. “Anything for you, love. Now, I heard there is a screening room on the property. I may have brought a movie or two for all of us to watch.”

* * *

 

“Sounds great.”

The parents and Millie declined the movies, instead opting to spoil Priya, Sarah’s daughter, while the others went out to the screening room/guest house.

And they may have all gotten a little drunk while they were out there. Jay and Sarah were the first to bow out, just slightly unsteady on their feet. Braeden and Jack were the next to go back to the main house a while later.

That left Emma, Vicky and Tom. Or more accurately Emma and Vicky awake, and Tom passed out.

The girls were gently sipping bottles of water, trying to counter act a morning hangover, as they played a question game with each other.

“That was the first boy I kissed,” Emma finished explaining. “Now, my question to you is...who was the first guy you slept with?”

Vicky nearly choked on the water she was drinking, feeling it burn in her nose as her body attempted to snort it up that way in shock.

“I'm not telling you who!”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Fine, you prudish American, just the details. How old were you? Was he good or bad? Did you orgasm? Etcetera, etcetera.” Her friend waved her hand for her to continue.

“I was seventeen,” she started, trying her best to keep her descriptions and important details general or vague. Emma didn't need to know she slept with her older brother. “He was very sweet and a bit older than me. Not grossly older, just few years though. He was experienced, I really wasn't. I mean obviously it was my first time. ” Vicky leaned back in her seat and looked up at the ceiling as she continued to speak. “I had the most ridiculous crush on him, and the crush happened fast and hit me hard. Turns out he felt the same, so bonus. Very sweet, gorgeous blue eyes. It was after a party, his parents weren't home. At the time I thought he was very good, made sure I had a good time before we both had a _good_ time. Afterwards he held me in his arms all night. Later I found out not all guys were like him, that my first time isn't exactly the norm.”

“Shit,” Emma giggled, “bloke sounds like a prince. I assume it didn't work out, since you aren't still with him. How come?”

She looked back at Emma. “Stupidity. Honestly, that's the best answer. We took turns at being stupid until he blew it. I mean, I’m not innocent here, but he kind of put the final nail in the coffin.”

Emma shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “His loss. I'm still rooting for you and my brother. Now I'm sure he did something imbecilic, but the man does truly love you. If the opportunity arises, give him a second chance. Please.”

“If the opportunity arises,” Vicky promised. Then she sported her signature grin. “Now, tell me how serious things are with you and Jack.”

They got Tom roused enough to walk him back inside and upstairs. They may not have been entirely quiet, as Tom stumbled a few times and slammed himself into a wall once. Emma slipped into her shared room with her boyfriend. Vicky was going to make sure he made it inside his room as she guided him up one more flight.

“I just want to let you know I heard you,” Tom confessed before opening his door.

She patted his shoulder trying to open the door for him, unaware of what he was talking about. “I'm sure you did.”

With a huff he shrugged her hand off. His blue eyes flashed and he turned to her. “I heard you, talking to Emma.”

“Well, we weren’t exactly being quiet,” Vicky joked, still trying to get him in his room.

“I know...I heard what you said about me. About our first time.”

She wanted to correct him and tell him their only time, but let him continue.

“And only a fool would-wouldn't treat you like the goddess you are,” he finished.

“I think you've got me on a very high pedestal,” she replied as she helped him into his room finally.

“No,” he said adamantly, shaking his head. “I know all your flaws, I am not blind to them. Just makes me love you more.”

She helped him sit on his bed. His long fingers grabbed her hands and traced the veins on her wrists. He didn't pull her down next to him, but allowed her to decide. She stayed standing. “Christmas has always been a good time for us, hasn't it Nike?”

“I suppose.”

“Do you remember going down to C.S. Lewis’ pond?”

She shifted on her feet as he kissed the inside of her wrist. It sent warmth up her arms. “I'll never forget it.”

“I want to take you back there one day,” he confessed.

Vicky shifted on her feet again, uneasiness passed over her face. Still, she did not pull her hands from his grasp. “Why are you telling me this?”

His eyes sparkled as he looked up at her. Not from joy or mischief, but from the tears that were gathering. Briefly, he squeezed her hands.

When he spoke, his voice was just a little thicker. “I have this sudden feeling as if this is our goodbye. I want you to be happy. I want you to be so happy you make Euphrosyne jealous. In a good way, not the curse you kind of way.” She laughed at his reference to the Greek goddess. Trust Tom to make references to Greek mythology while drunk.

“I want more than anything to be the one to make you happy. That's a selfish want, however, and if you find happiness elsewhere then I shall be happy as well. It won't change how I feel about you, I forever will remain your friend.”

Taking back one of her hands, she placed it on his cheek and caressed his cheekbone with her thumb. “I’ll always love you too, Tom.”

He leaned into the touch, savoring it. If this is what he could get from her, he’d take it. He take anything she would be willing to give and be all the more happy.

With both hands, she took his hands in hers this time. “Come with me.”

Where? Who cared? If she led him straight to Hell he’d gladly go. A little wobbly he followed her out of his room and to . . . her room? Yeah, he was definitely not going to question it.

Sitting him on the end of her bed, she told him to take off his shoes. “And your jeans,” she blushed as she told him. He complied as she went to her things and pulled out a large shirt and little flannel shorts. Her room was warm enough that she could get away with it.

Gently she led him to the side of the bed and motioned for him to get in. That’s when Tom realized what this was. This was goodbye. Not goodbye in so much that they would never see each other again. It was a goodbye, for now at least, on the dream of them together. For tonight, he knew, they’d pretend. They’d pretend it was just the two of them, that they were together in the way that they had both hoped to be. Before their egos and poor timing got in the way.

Tonight they were Tom and Vicky.

Tonight they were the goddess and her acolyte.

As soon as they were both under the blankets and coverings, Vicky went and snuggled up to him. She laid her on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her, her own arm going across his chest. She fit perfectly against Tom.

“Tom,” Vicky spoke softly, quietly, as she was scared of waking up anyone else in the whole house.

“Vicky,” Tom replied gently, and just as gently he ran his fingers across her arm that was draped across him.

“Can I kiss you?”

His felt his heart skip a beat and a tingly warmth spread across his sternum from it. “Of course.”

Her lips on his were like Heaven, or at least as close as he would get to it on Earth. They would be lips that blessed his most joyful dreams and imprecated his darkest nightmares. Her hand came to rest on his cheek once more. 

She had forgot what kissing Tom was like. It had been years, and only for a brief period of time at that, but now it seemed as if they had ever stopped. His lips might have been slightly chapped, but she enjoyed the way they pleasantly scraped against hers. It let her know that this was real.

And she couldn’t have been happier.

Her hand moved from his cheek and went to dip up the bottom hem of his shirt, where her fingertips danced across the muscles of his stomach. He inhaled sharply, allowing her to slip her tongue into his mouth.

It was a lazy short of kissing they reveled in; soft touches, mouths moving slowing against each other, no hurry to go faster, slower, or stop.

Until, it seemed Tom couldn’t hold back anymore. As he kissed across her jaw and down her neck, he whispered, prayed, “Let me love you, let me love you, let me love you.” His hand came up, underneath her shirt, and tenderly cupped her breast, his thumb slowly teasing her nipple.

“Yes,” Vicky answered his supplication.

Quickly her top was gone, then his, and he was kissing down her throat, lips scraping against her soft skin as he made his way to the valley between her breasts. “I love the taste of your skin,” Tom murmured as he traveled toward her nipple, flicking it with his tongue until it peaked. He sucked it hard into his mouth, until her back was arching off the bed and her breath was coming quickly.

“Oh god,” she exhaled when he let nipple slip out of his mouth, past the rough texture of his lips.

“Give me some time and I’ll have you saying, ‘Oh Tom,’ and if I’m very lucky, ‘Oh Thomas,’ instead.”

“Uh-huh, less talking, more action,” she quipped as she leaned up and licked his chest, her own tongue taking its turn to flick his nipple.

He let out a growl and dove down to her stomach, giving a quick nip to the swell of her stomach. She let out a little squeak in surprise that turned into a groan when he started to suck at the skin where her hipbones were. How could she forget this man and his enjoyment of leaving lovebites?

After he marked each hipbone he smiled up at her, enjoying the hazy look in her in eyes. “I want to taste you.”

“Tom,” she said instead of yes, but he knew what she meant.

Sitting back he hooked his thumbs in her shorts and panties to slowly pulled them down her legs. Once she was free from the garments he lifted one leg up and kissed the side of her knee, set it back on the bed before repeating the action with the other. “You’re beautiful, Vicky. I wish you could see from my point of view.”

Again she said his name, and he saw the love there in her eyes as she said it. They wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn't there.

His fingers danced gently up her thighs until his thumb found her and he began to gently stroke her. Looking up at him she bit her lip, enjoying the tender teasing. Next thing he knew his broad shoulders were parting her legs wide and he sank down to place kisses where her thighs and hips met, followed by the sharp suck of his mouth as he left another mark on each side.

“Thomas,” she moaned, hoping to goad him to her center. It worked.

Growling, his tongue made contact with her wet, throbbing skin. “Delicious,” he somehow managed to speak as he slipped his hand under her ass and gave her bottom a squeeze. When she rocked against him as he dipped his tongue inside of her, one hand remained on her bottom while the other reached up to tease her nipple. Bless his long arms.

If he had more time, more nights with her, he’d make sure to find all the places that made her scream. Ones he didn’t even know to look for their first time together. Right now, he was just focused on making her happy.

She let out a whine as he took his hand from her chest. His response to her complaint was to slide one finger from the departing hand into her.

Vicky gasped his name. Clearly not complaining anymore.

He repeated the action, stroking her slowly.

“Good?”

“Fuck,” was all she could answer.

He took that as “good,” and then added another finger.

Her body lifted off the bed as he curled his fingers inside of her and hit just the right spot. In recompense, when her body came back down, he closed his teeth on her clit. “Tom, I need, Tom . . .”

“What do you need, my love?” He moved the hand from her bottom to help anchor her to the bed.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

And he didn’t. He didn’t stop when her hands tangled in his hair as he continued to use his fingers and mouth to work her. He didn’t stop when her body shuddered as she came. It was only when her body was completely limp that he did stop. Pulling himself up he licked his fingers clean as she watched him with hooded eyes, dark hair spread across the pillows in most wonderfully messy way.

“Delicious,” he echoed his comment from earlier when he was done licking his fingers. “Are you sleepy?”

She shook her head and that blasted Cheshire grin was forming at the corner of her mouth. “I want you inside me.”

He leaned down to kiss, her tongue slipped into his mouth to take her on him. He pulled away just enough to look in her eyes. “I don’t have anything with me.”

“I’m clean. I checked right after I broke up,” she didn’t mention her ex’s name. Now was not the time to bring his name up. “Just to be safe. I haven’t been with anyone since then.

That was a crime unto itself, that there was no one to worship her body properly the way she deserved.

“I take the shot and have a couple of morning after pills I always make sure to have on hand.”

Bloody hell, she was not making this easy on him. He rested his forehead against hers for a few moments, his covered hips pressed against her bare one. Rolling her hips against him to entice him, he groaned.

Finally he managed to say, “I’m clean too. Haven’t been with anyone for a while.”

He watched as she reached between them and pushed down his underwear. Delicately she placed her hand on his length and rubbed him. It was enough to make him groan again and stoke his fire, but not enough to relieve him.

“I want you inside me,” she repeated, her eyes holding his gaze. “I need you inside me.”

He needed that too.

He kissed her, running his teeth over her bottom lip. She made a sound that was halfway between a whimper and moan that made him twitch. If this was their final goodbye of “them,” he was going to be selfish right along with her.

“I love you,” he spoke softly into her ear.

“I love you,” she sighed as he leaned back and took her hand in his, entwining their fingers together and brought them to rest on the side of her head. With his free hand he removed her bottoms the rest of the way. He returned to be cradle between her open thighs once more. Skin to skin. She could feel him press against her heat.

Once he was settled he took her other hand in his and repeated the action of entwining their fingers and placed them on the other side of her head. “I love you,” he repeated one more time before he slid into her in one smooth move. She gasped, delighting in how he filled her. He didn’t move at first, clearly giving her a moment to adjust to him. “Keep going,” she whispered, her voice sounding throaty. She clenched her core to encourage him.

He dropped his forehead to hers again, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Wrapping her legs around his waist she rocked into him, causing him to exhale sharply. He kissed her lips and then opened his eyes.

“Give this old man a minute.” He squeeze their entwined hands and smiled when he held her gaze. “I love it when you smile like that, especially when it's directed at me.”

She didn’t even realize that she was smiling up at him. It was there, she could feel in on her lips once he pointed it out. “I’m happy.”

He cursed under his breath, kissed her once more and then he was moving with her. The delectable feeling of him inside her only increased with each stroke. The pace he set was perfect and increased just when she needed him to. She slipped her hands from his and placed them on his shoulders, ran them up his neck, before settling in his hair.

Tom’s movements turned sharp and purposeful, allowing him to go even deeper inside her, and she cried out. She was tempted to close her eyes, but instead held his eyes with hers, allowing them to see everything in the other. He was able to see everything as she shuddered in pleasure, quivering and trembling against him.

They were lost in each other, and when she came she took him over the edge with her.

* * *

 

She slept in his arms all that night. In the morning he brought her to peak once more with his mouth and twice more as they made love.

No one came and bothered them, pounded on the doors or walls to be quiet. When they finally made it downstairs to join their families, no one said anything. There were no implying questions or knowing looks. They spent most of the day cuddled in one space or another, one was always touching the other; playing with hair, tracing languid designs on the backs of hands, pinkies entwined when one had to reach for something that was far from them.

Either no one noticed or all had somehow collectively decided not to mention the way Tom and Vicky were acting. She wasn’t sure which was more likely. Frankly, she didn’t care at the moment as she didn’t want anything to burst their little bubble.

It wasn’t until they settled down for Christmas dinner, with Tom next to her and his hand on her thigh, that she realized what was going on.

It was a Christmas miracle. Neither Vicky nor Tom were under the impression that something was going to come of last night and today. Somehow the universe was giving them this time though, allowing them to say goodbye in their own way and not having anyone say boo about it.

When he took her home, he helped get her things inside. She gave him a kiss on the cheek in thanks and he gave her a dazzling smile in return. They both knew this was the end of them. For now at least. It was a closing of a door, but not the turning of a lock. They were still going to be friends, they were still going to hang out with each other. They were just both going their own separate ways while remaining in each other’s lives on the most platonic level.

Even if he still called her Nike. It was her name now, and she wasn’t going to ask him to stop calling her it.

And while Vicky and Tom were settling into their new dynamic, in the shadows across the street someone else narrowed their eyes. Their lip curled in a silent snarl. “You chose him.” It was a promise and malediction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to point out, that I know nothing about Tom's family other than what he himself has provided. I know he has niece, as he as said. I picked the name Priya because in school I knew a Priya and always thought her name was pretty. I don't know anything else about his older sister besides her name. I made up the husband, his name, and what they do for a living. Just thought I'd toss that out there, just in case.
> 
> Also I apologize for the major delay in updates. Thank you to new and old readers!


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